


My Brooklyn Boy

by TheSinkingSubmarine



Series: Everything Stucky-licious [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Broken Bucky Barnes, Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky takes care of Steve, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Gay Steve Rogers, Hand Jobs, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Love, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Love at First Sight, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Male Friendship, Masturbation, New York City, Oral Sex, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Steve loves drawing Bucky, Steve takes care of Bucky, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSinkingSubmarine/pseuds/TheSinkingSubmarine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers came from a privileged background in Manhattan. Bucky Barnes was a Brooklyn boy. On one occasion as teenagers, these two crossed paths, forming an ultimate bond and friendship. After his father's death, Steve moved to Paris. When he returned to New York years later, Bucky was a changed person. That did not stop him from pursuing the one man he ever loved.</p><p> </p><p>He moaned at the touch of Steve’s warm hand on his skin, arching slightly, thrusting his pelvis onto his. It was that moment when Bucky released his lips, leaning back to take a better view of the ecstatic angel below him. </p><p>“You really meant what you said there?” he asked him.</p><p>“You know I can only speak the truth when I’m drunk,” Steve reminded him. He pushed himself to sit up on the couch, with Bucky still straddling on him. “So we’re good now?”</p><p>“Not yet — I need to hear you say it — right now, <em>looking into my eyes</em>.”</p><p>Steve brought a hand to cup his chin, their eyes meeting. “I love you, Bucky Barnes,” he declared. “I’ve loved you since the day you pulled me off that trash can.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How they first met

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a brief introduction to the story. I will try to update my chapters as quick as possible;)

The Rogers family had been members of the elite society of Upper East Side Manhattan for centuries, their first ancestors to have been a part of this group dating back to as far as World War I. In fact, membership was so exclusive that you wouldn’t have been able to even buy your way in. The ‘blue-blood’ right was a privilege bestowed upon those bearing the name — a right bestowed upon Steve since the day he was born. 

Yet being the heir to his father’s inheritance had always seemed like an unfathomable thought, something he never really cared for. After all, his mother was from Brooklyn. He remembered how she once told him sternly, “You may have the Rogers name, Steven, but there will always a root that strongly grasps the soil of Brooklyn. Don’t you ever forget that.”

And he never did. 

“Sir.”

Steve jerked his head up, his back firmly pressed against the plush cushion of the backseat. For a thirteen year-old, he was still quite scrawny and thin. 

“I’d thought I’d let you know that your mother had been gone for nearly an hour now.” The driver, Mr Thompson, was a man in his fifties, his loyalty proven ever since Steve’s own father came of age.

His shoulders slumped downwards as his pressed himself further against the fabric behind him. Earlier that day, his mother had announced that she would be going into Brooklyn to take care of some unfinished business. For some reason, she decided to let Steve go with her, most probably because the last time he was there, he had barely learnt to walk. It was queer, considering he had been to places thousands of kilometres farther for Brooklyn, and yet that place seemed most unfamiliar to him. 

He had been waiting in his car for his mother, who had gone off to her proclaimed duties. An hour passed by swiftly, and there was still no sign of her. 

“I’m going after her.” Those words escaped from his mouth more easily than he thought they would. Not that he cared — he was becoming a little restless, needless to say. 

“Be careful, Sir.”

Steve opened the door and stepped outside, inhaling the air. The memory of the Brooklyn scent that was supposed to be ingrained to the back of his mind did not show. He felt like a foreigner, so out of place. 

He faintly recalled his mother walking towards this direction, so he followed the instinct. She might’ve turned into this back alley, he thought, walking in between two buildings. 

It didn’t take him twenty steps to realise he was reaching a dead end. But as he turned round, one large boy stood before, his eyes brimming with menace and thirst. 

“What’s wrong, pretty boy? Finding yourself in the wrong place?” the boy spat. He took a good look at Steve, observing his fine clothing on his scrawny figure. A sly grin appeared on his face (and not the good kind). “Look at those clothes — you must be loaded.”

“If you would please step aside.” Steve was awfully calm about the situation.

The boy shoved him onto a trash can. Steve stumbled, scrambling to get back up. 

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?” he taunted. “Scared of a little push? Bet you must’ve already peed ya pants, you stick.”

Steve got up quickly. “I can do this all day.”

Just as the boy lifted a fist to throw a punch onto his face, his whole body launched backwards, his collar sinking into his throat. With the boy being pulled aside, another revealed behind him. This one was taller, scruffy-looking, but underneath the slight trace of dirt on his skin lay a handsome face. Very handsome, Steve thought. 

The first boy, who had fallen onto the floor, managed to get up onto his feet quickly, his fist flying through the air, descending onto the handsome boy’s face. He dodged the punch, grabbing the first boy and hitting him straight on the nose. He fell to the ground instantly. Steve had never been more relieved to see anyone dash off into the distance. He silently thanked God the handsome boy’s face had not been laid a finger on by the other boy. 

“Are you hurt?” Handsome boy looked at him with a concerned frown as Steve dusted himself off. His mother would be disappointed to see him at such a state. 

“You’ve kind of beaten him to me for him to hurt me any further,” he replied, smiling. 

Handsome boy returned a smile, extending a hand to shake his. “I’m Bucky.”

“Steve.” He took his hand. 

“So what’s a guy like you doing in central Brooklyn?” Bucky’s eyes scanned him from top to bottom. 

“My mother’s from around here,” he said. “My father’s from the Upper East Side.”

His blue eyes widened. “She must be fortunate to have married well.”

“Depends on what you mean by fortunate. My father’s not the best person to get along with.”

He looked down at the ground. “I never knew _my_ father.”

Steve startled. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He swung an arm around Steve’s shoulder (he was a lot taller than him), leading him towards the street. “My mom raised me well.” 

Steve had never encountered any stranger being in such close contact with him before. Every person he had ever met stayed away from him. He had no close friends. But as much as he was unfamiliar with this experience, somehow Bucky’s friendliness managed to make him feel comfortable and at ease. 

“My mom raised me well, too,” he found himself say.

“Now I didn’t say it was a competition.” The corner of Bucky’s lips curled upwards. 

Steve stopped, turning to the tall boy, who was looking into his blue eyes with his own. “I haven’t thanked you for what you did. Allow me to make it up to you.”

He broke into a fit of laughter. “Dude, it was just a small punch. If you think I haven’t done enough of what I did, your idea of these place must be a little skewed. There’s probably a beating in every street corner.”

“My mother never told me about the beatings,” said Steve. 

“What _did_ she tell you about Brooklyn then?”

“How great Brooklyn is — how she always misses it.” He slumped his shoulders. “How it’s so different from Manhattan.”

“Yea, Manhattan and Brooklyn — same city, worlds apart.” Bucky nodded. “But I have a feeling that’s all gonna change.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “Just a feeling. In less than five years, we won’t be living in the 20th century anymore.”

Steve had often wondered what that would be like — to live in the 21st century, to live in a different millennium. The thought of it brought him a somewhat bizarre feeling. 

They sat on a bench on the street, talking for hours. Steve had almost forgotten his driver was still waiting for him in the car. Yet God knows where his mother had gone off to anyway, so might as well be occupied with an interesting conversation during every minute of the wait. And Bucky was indeed an interesting person. A mere boy of fifteen, born and raised in Brooklyn by a single mother. He told Steve about his dreams, how he wanted to be a part of the army and fight for his country. Steve told him about his family background, his keen interest in art and his own fair share of dreams. When the time came for him to go, he almost didn’t want to leave. It was the most fun he had had in ages. 

“Where do you live?” Steve asked.

“Just round the corner in an apartment. Do you have a pen?” he said. 

Steve found a small one in his left pocket, handing it to him. He took his arm, rolling up his sleeve and scribbled onto his skin. “Here’s my address. Come visit any time. My mom makes good apple pies.”

“I will.” He rolled down his sleeve, securely concealing the writing on his arm. 

“Here — let me.” Bucky buttoned up his sleeve, Steve gazing down at his handsome face as he did so. His family had a variety of well connections, and during the many dinner parties his father hosted, Steve had seen a quite a number of good-looking boys, girls, men _and_ women among the list of honoured guests. Some may have even been models. However good-looking they were, though, none compared to Bucky. He was gorgeous — utterly stunning. His steel blue eyes, perfect nose, cherry red lips, hair drawn back casually and a hint of tan on his skin. Steve couldn’t help but imagine what he would look like grown-up. 

They stared at each other for a near half-minute, before Steve blinked, coming to his senses. Bucky seemed to be in the same trance as him. He held out his hand. “Until we meet again, Steve.”

There must be some sort of force that pulled Steve into Bucky’s arms, giving him an embrace. As they hugged, Bucky let out a small laugh, patting his back. “You really don’t get out often, do you, Steve?”

Steve pulled back. “Bye, Bucky. It was nice talking to you.”

“Anytime, pal.” 

He watched as Bucky strolled across the road, then turned round to look back at him, smiling. Steve gave a small smile, as Bucky disappeared round the corner. 

His mother was already in the car waiting for him. Naturally, there was a worried expression on her face. “Where have you been, Steven?”

“Just wandering.” He didn’t tell her about Bucky. It was the first time he ever liked something — or someone so much, and he didn’t want to lose him. It was a risk he would not dare take. 

As promised, Steve returned the following week, arriving at the address Bucky wrote on his arm. (He copied it into a diary and washed the ink off, of course, to avoid any unnecessary suspicion.) Bucky did not lie. His mother did make amazing apple pies. Steve found her a lovely woman with a lovely name — Jane. Though upon their first meeting, when he announced himself as Steve Rogers to her, a frown appeared between her thin eyebrows, in which she asked him who his mother was. 

“Sarah,” he had told her. 

There was something in her expression that changed, yet the significance so little he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. She nodded, “I see,” then disappearing to another room afterwards. 

He also learnt that Bucky’s last name was Barnes, and that he was, in fact, born James Buchanan Barnes. “Bucky’s just a nickname from Buchanan,” he told him. It may be de ja vu, but he thought the name Barnes sounded familiar.

Steve became a frequent visitor to the household from then on. The first few months, he would ask Mr Thompson to drop him off round the corner of Bucky’s apartment and wait for him there until he returned. He never told the driver where he went or what he was doing. “Exploring,” he had said. After a couple of months, he began to learn to take the subway station instead to avoid any irritating questions. His parents were not around often, so he could go anywhere whenever he wanted to, and he always made sure he came back in time before they’re arrival. 

And so, the months turned into years. Steve and Bucky’s friendship grew like wildfire. It was unbelievable, seeing themselves grew out of their teenage years into adulthood. Life was going great for Steve, having Bucky there by his side all the time — or at least on a weekly basis. 

That is, until his father died of pneumonia when he turned eighteen. 

Everything spiralled down almost instantaneously afterwards. His mother grew into severe depression. He had inherited his father’s billions, and yet all he felt inside was an empty hollow, vacuuming his soul. 

And then, he remembered the night when his mother snapped. That was the night when everything collapsed. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. When his mother told him —

He fled from the house, taking the subway train to Brooklyn. He had to see Bucky. It was his last chance, he knew. 

The dreaded walk that dragged him across the streets all the way to Bucky’s apartment nearly broke him. 

“Steve.” Bucky did not seem surprised to see him. He immediately ushered him onto his couch, where he sat, motionless. “What’s going on, Steve?”

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Even the thought of it was pain enough. “I’m moving to France.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Bucky swallowed. 

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

The next silence that propelled across the room was like a torturous snare. Steve’s lips and throat felt dry. 

After another thirty seconds — “Where in France?”

“Paris.”

Bucky went into the other room, returning with a pen in his hand. He took Steve’s arm, scribbling onto it. 

“In case you forgot,” he said, putting his arm down. 

“I’ve memorised it by heart.”   
“Then all you have to remember is to write to me,” said Bucky. “I’ll remember to save up my pennies for postage.”

He did not know how long their last hug took them. All he remembered was never wanting to leave Bucky’s arms, and that faint whisper of Bucky’s voice in his ears, “If you come back, swing by anytime, Stevie.”

Steve got into an art school in Paris, where he was allowed to pursue his dream of creating art as much as he liked, in which he became fully devoted to. The rest of his spare time was spent writing letters to Bucky. Throughout the next year, they had kept themselves up-to-date with each other’s lives. It was only one year after when Steve learnt about Jane’s fatal cancer, and how they were fighting it together. Steve wished he were there to fight it with them. 

Four months later, he received a letter that simply said, “She’s gone, Steve. Laid her down with all the others.”

After that, the letters simply stopped coming. Steve anxiously wrote back every week. A few months in of having no replies, he decided to stop. It was then when he realised that just like that, his first real friend had been torn away from him, just as he imagined on the day they first met.


	2. Ten years later

21st century seemed to have struck New York like a streak of lightning struck a tree. Steve could not decide whether he should be fascinated by the sight of the city before him, or be concerned of the harm done to it. The concrete buildings have grown taller, the sky had seemed narrower from ground’s view, and the bellowing noises on the streets have gotten a lot louder. 

However the 2000s struck his beloved city, one thing was definite: it had struck Steve with success. Soon after graduating from art school, he was offered to work as an apprentice for one of Paris’s most elite artists, granting him an easy ticket to the recognition of his talent. In less than two years, he became a full-fledged artist himself, creating countless pieces of artwork of his own, and having them displayed in a variety of art galleries and some of the most exclusive art exhibitions, most auctioning off at a handsome sum.

His fame must’ve spread across the continent, because about a year ago, he received a job offer from one of New York’s most high-end studios. He had been working free-lance mostly for years now, and had made a name and life for himself in Paris, but after years of not returning to the big city, he knew he had to choose this option. Besides, he was still free to create his own work even after accepting the job. 

His mother returned to New York a few months earlier, while he attended to some last-minute business and said his last farewells in Paris before leaving. It was a new beginning, he had told himself. He was going home. 

There was only one thing and one thing alone on his mind during his flight — something he nearly hadn’t thought about in years. 

The penthouse he grew up in on the Upper East Side of Manhattan stayed intact, where his mother moved back in upon her arrival. Steve had bought another penthouse nearby to stay and work in peace. 

He ushered his driver to take his baggage to his new apartment. He had something else more important to do. The nearest subway station was within a hundred metre’s walking distance, but Steve decided he couldn’t wait that long. He got a cab instead. 

“So where you headed today, friend?” the driver boomed. “There’s gonna be traffic in two minutes, so better make it quick. You won’t like it during rush-hour, believe me.”

Steve took no time in rolling up the sleeve on his left arm, putting it forward for the driver to see. In dark, cursive handwriting, the address was plastered underneath his skin. 

The driver whistled. “Sweet tattoo, man. Something special about that address?” The car proceeded to take a turn round a bend. 

Bucky was right — Brooklyn had become a different world in the 21st century. Here he was, ten years after the last time he stepped foot onto where he was standing now, staring up at Bucky’s apartment — if it were still his apartment. It seemed to be the only building in the neighbourhood that hadn’t changed. 

Just as he expected, there was no answer when he knocked on the door. The trip to his new home felt dreary. He made up his mind to return to the apartment. Bucky had to be in New York, and he was going to search the city high and low for him. 

The cellphone in his pocket rang. The words _Sarah_ flashed across the screen. He slid to answer. 

“Steven.” Her voice was calm and stern, like it had always been. “Before you go to your new home, I have something to tell you.”

Steve groaned inwardly. What did his mother want from him? He frowned to himself. “What is it?”

“I’m sure you’re aware that our family had a lot of well connections,” she began, “but among those connections laid some bad ones. What I’m trying to say is — there are people out to get us — to get _you_. 

“Which is why I’ve hired someone to protect you.”

The frown deepened in less than a millisecond. “What?” he cried into the phone, a little too loudly. 

“You have to trust me on this, Steven.”

“Mom, I’m a grown-man!”

“So was your father.” The underlying tone in her voice sounded so painful it was almost menacing. “Please, my son, if you won’t do this for yourself, then do it for me.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“He’s waiting for you at your place. Thank you for doing this. And be careful.”

Steve hung up. He ran a hand through his hair. Why was his mother insisting on having him watched over 24/7? His concern wasn’t necessarily the lack of space to accommodate another person — he just wanted some peace and quiet for a while. Perhaps he could negotiate a deal with this new bodyguard(the label sounded weird in his head) of his. 

The cab stopped outside his new apartment building. He stepped out of the taxi, instantly realising that he had been so caught up with his own thoughts, he never really had the chance to take a good look at the city while he was being driven through streets from Brooklyn to Manhattan. He never noticed how different the Upper East Side looked until that moment. Yet one thing was for sure: he was finally home. 

The trip to his new penthouse felt even weirder. His mind detonated into a whole variety of questions. How was he supposed to greet a complete stranger his mother had dumped onto him? What if he hated him immediately upon first meeting? Steve was not fond of being watched, so something told him this might not end well.

He stepped out of the elevator that led straight into the penthouse. There was no sign of anyone so far. The living room was designed to be quite spacious so he walked in further, admiring the furnishing until he stopped abruptly at the sight of a grown man sitting on one of the armchairs. 

The first thing he noticed was the man’s slightly long dark hair, almost reaching down to shoulder length. As Steve moved one step closer, the man looked up instantaneously. Steve’s mouth fell open automatically. He had the most beautiful face Steve had ever laid eyes on. In a timespan of exactly one second, the million of questions in his head was replaced by a million of different ones, accompanied by millions more, spreading through the depths of his mind like wildfire. Those ecstatic features on his face — he’d recognise them anywhere. 

“It’s you.” The man’s voice came out low and dry at first. There was a certain sparkle in his eyes that lit up his sad face. “Steve — it’s really you.”

Steve’s first instinct was to run forwards as he stood up from the chair. They collided into a deep embrace, holding each other tightly. “It’s me, Buck,” he half-whispered.

It must’ve been another three minutes before they broke apart. All those years of not being able to be in close contact with his best friend had rendered his sense towards him numb. He had almost forgotten what it was like missing him, and yet after all those years numbing pain, the memory of them together came rushing back to him during that moment. 

What seemed like eternity went pass as they simply stood there, staring at one another in both awe and nostalgia. 

“So what’s a guy like you doing in the Upper East Side of Manhattan?” Steve asked after the long silence. 

That brought a smile to his face, in remembrance of their first encounter with each other. “I can only think of one reason.”

He knew perfectly well what he meant. 

“Look how much you’ve grown, Stevie.” Bucky eyed him head to toe. Steve was almost taller than him., having buffed up over the years, and so had Bucky, though his lean physique mostly stayed the same. “When I saw you just now, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that it was you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s now long hair. He then looked at him severely. “So are you gonna tell me why you went off the grid and disappeared from the radar for ten years, James?”

The happy and relaxed expression left his face in a split second. “It’ll take me some time to explain, Steve.”

“I have all day.”

Steve led Bucky to the couch, where they sat down comfortably, side by side. 

He remained silent for a while at first, before finally asking quietly, “When was the last letter you received from me?”

“The one about your mom.” Steve found himself hesitant in saying those words.

He nodded in response, his eyes dropping towards the ground. “Yes… my mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She wasn’t going to make it anyways. We didn’t have the money.” He tried to sound collected, but Steve could hear pain underneath the restraint. 

“Why didn’t you ask me for any help?” Steve asked. “I could’ve given you the money.”

“Why didn’t you offer to help?” he snapped defiantly. Immediately he realised the error in his tone, which softened, saying, “Sorry — I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

Steve’s eyes circled his friend’s expression, who was looking down onto the floor. “Is that why you stopped writing to me?”

“No.” He shook his head. 

Another silence propelled across the room. 

“Bucky—” Steve began.

“I never stopped writing to you,” he said. 

“I… I don’t understand.”

“Right after my mom died, I joined the army. I stationed all across the globe. Mail gets lost all the time — they told me. But no, Steve, I never gave up trying to contact you. I sent every single letter I wrote, even when I know they might not ever reach you.”

Steve’s heart nearly stopped. “When was the time you last sent me a letter?”

“About two years ago,” he answered. “I came back to New York around that time.” He paused. “Do you know how hard it is to find a job when you’re a war veteran?”

“Couldn’t you just go back to your old job?”

He shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Not when I came back in less than one piece.”

“What do you mean?” Steve watched as he lifted both his hands, which were wrapped in gloves. (Steve briefly wondered why he hadn’t noticed this just now — perhaps he was too busy focusing on his face.) He removed the glove from his left hand, revealing a metal hand. 

Steve’s eyes widened. “Bucky — what happened to you?”

“Wait for it, kid.”

He proceeded to remove his shirt, his bare skin becoming visible in plain sight. Steve couldn’t help but stare(not just because of his perfect body which he knew he had always possessed). The prosthetic arm attached to his shoulder grasped onto the flesh and skin of his left flesh. The streaks of red scars that spread along the outskirts of the metal arm served as an indication of the pain endured to create them. Steve shuddered at the thought of the process of Bucky’s torture. His own hand automatically shifted towards his skin. 

“May I…?”

Bucky nodded briefly.

Steve placed his fingers onto his scars gently. “Does it hurt?”

“Not as much as when they first formed.”

“God, what happened to you?”

“Russia — five years ago. Blizzard that threw me off a snowy cliff. They had to cut it off.”

Steve examined the symbol on the metal. “This isn’t the American military symbol, is it?”

Bucky tensed, his face morphing into a scowl. He shrugged Steve’s hand off of him. “I’ve said enough.”

“Buck—”

“I said I’ve said ENOUGH!” His voice rang across the apartment. 

Steve looked completely taken aback. “Okay, I won’t make you talk.”

He swallowed, putting his shirt back on to cover the arm. 

After another short silence, Steve asked, “How did my mom find you?”

“She reached out to me at my apartment in Brooklyn a few months ago when she came back to New York,” he replied. “Apparently, she’s known that we’ve been friends all these years.”

Steve frowned in alarm. “But that’s impossible. I never told anyone else about you.”

“However she found out about me, she picked me up during my worst state, offering to repay my debts and subsidise my living payments.”

“Did she ask you for anything in return?”

“Not until I asked her to.”

“What did she ask for?”

Bucky looked up at him miserably. “She asked me to protect you.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “That’s the part I don’t understand. Why would I need protecting?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, Steve. But if I were you, I wouldn’t trust her entirely.”

“What makes you say that?” he said.

“Just a feeling.”

It wasn’t long after when two loud bangs boomed through the living room. They jumped up from the couch instantly. The sound was coming from outside the apartment. Bucky took subtle steps forwards slowly, listening to the possible intruder’s moves. Steve saw two holes on his fine door. _Shit._

The door blasted open. The intruder walked in, pointing a gun at Bucky’s chest. Before Steve could yell, Bucky took no time in seizing the man’s hand, which was still holding the gun, and giving it a strong twist. The man yelped. Bucky flipped him over himself, pinning him down onto the floor. The man squirmed and tried to budge and push Bucky off of him. Bucky’s firm hand kept him still on the ground, unable to move. 

“Take his gun.”

Steve found himself nearly unable to move as well. He was utterly speechless. 

“TAKE THE GODDAMN GUN, STEVEN ROGERS!”

Steve snapped out of his trance, immediately following Bucky’s orders in hurrying forwards and grabbing the gun from the man’s hand. 

“Call the police,” Bucky commanded, pushing the man’s head down in a thud with his metal hand. And to the man, he said, “You have the right to remain silent until told not to. Move or say a single word and I’ll have you pulverised.”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or shiver at the sight of Bucky’s authority. Nonetheless, he picked up his cellphone, dialling 911. Someone answered from the other end, and he quickly gave them all information needed. 

As he hung up, Bucky looked up at him with weary eyes. “Your mom was right about one thing.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that someone is trying to kill you.”


	3. Something to remember

“Are you hurt?” Steve pushed parts of Bucky’s dark hair behind his ear, carefully examining his face, checking for scars. The last thing he wanted was Bucky’s pretty face to be ruined. 

A small grin appeared on Bucky’s face. “My face is still intact, Stevie. No need to overreact.” He turned to look at him. “Besides, it’s not like there’s anything special about it that needs preserving or something.”

It was Steve’s turn to smile. Had this man no idea how absolutely jaw-dropping he was? With his dripping good looks, Steve couldn’t begin to wonder how many hearts Bucky had managed to win over. Dozens? If not an infinite number, perhaps accurately speaking — an exponentially large number. Now that he thought about it, Bucky had never been in any relationship during the first five years of their friendship. So had Steve, but… well, Steve was Steve.

The police station buzzed with ten conversations all happening at once. It was a fuss enough having to keep the intruder contained for nearly half an hour, and then explain to the police who had come up to Steve’s apartment what went on in there. They were all taken to the police station for questioning. The two of them had been waiting for over an hour now. 

“Jesus, how much do they need to know from this guy?” Bucky complained. “He busted down your door holding a handgun. If they’re not going to charge him for attempted murder, they should at least charge him for stupidity.”

“Or for being an asshole.”

The grin on Bucky’s face grew wider. “Whoa, Stevie, you kissed your mama with that mouth?”

“The Stevie you knew back then isn’t the same Stevie you know now.”

“No, I think he’s the exact same Stevie — just a lot more French.”

Steve let out a laugh, briefly remembering the casual conversations they used to have. Yet before he could respond to his remark, a woman strolled into the room swiftly clutching a clipboard and a pen, her red curls bouncing behind her. She was wearing a dark slim-fitted jumpsuit. Her light eyes scanned the two like a hawk, lips pouting in dissatisfaction. 

“Ok, boys.” There was a slight roughness to her sweet voice. “Gimme your names.”

Steve frowned. “But, ma’am, we told those guys who we are just now when we first came in here.”

“Yea, well, _those guys_ do not work for me,” she said sharply. “They’re policemen — I’m an FBI agent, Natasha Romanov — hi, nice to meet the both of you. Now can I please have both your full names?”

“Pleasure meeting you, Natasha,” said Steve. “My name is Steven Grant Rogers.”

She made a note of that on the sheet of paper on her clipboard, then shifted her attention to Bucky.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“That’s not a full name.”

“That’s not my problem.”

A normal person in authority would’ve lost their patience by now, but Natasha simply smirked, saying, “Really? Your mother named you Bucky?”

He scowled. “Are you trying to insult my mother?”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Bucky Barnes. I’m sure she’s a fine woman.”

“She _was_.”

Her facial expression dropped, sensing the implication. “Forgive me,” she apologised, then frowning. “But Bucky is not your real name, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure that part out.”

He sighed. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Thank you.” She scribbled the name onto the sheet of paper. Then, she looked up, her eyes widening at the sight of Bucky. “Wait — you’re not…?”

Steve watched as Bucky rolled his eyes in irritation. “Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Sam, I need you here.” Natasha touched her earpiece with a finger. 

In less than thirty seconds, a black man emerged from the interrogation room. “What is it, Nat?”

Natasha jerked her head at Bucky’s direction. “That’s him, Sam — Sergeant Barnes.”

It was Steve’s turn to frown. “Sergeant Barnes?”

Sam looked at Bucky. “Damn, it _is_ him. What’s he doing here?”

“Wait, can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Steve’s question came out as a shout. 

“You know your friend here was in the US army, right?” Sam asked.

“Of course.” Technically, he only knew a few hours ago. “But how do you know that?”

“This guy’s freakin’ famous, dude — he single-handedly came up with an attack for Afghanistan, led a whole team of soldiers,” Sam said. 

“We thought you were dead,” Natasha told Bucky. “The last time we heard of you was Russia. What happened there?”

Bucky lifted his left hand. The two looked at each other, then gawked at the shining metal. Sam whistled. 

“Can we get on with it now?” Bucky demanded. 

They came back to their senses. “Right,” said Sam. “Come with me.”

He led them into the interrogation room. They stared into the one-way glass, where the intruder sat on a chair, hand-cuffed to the table. 

“Did you get anything out of him?” Steve asked. 

“Quite a few, actually,” Sam said, smugly. “A bit of blackmailing always does the trick.”

“So why’s this guy trying to kill Steve?” said Bucky.

Sam and Natasha made eye contact. “He’s not trying to kill Steve,” she said. 

“Didn’t seem like it when he busted in holding a handgun,” Bucky muttered. 

“You didn’t let me finish.” Natasha folded her arms to her chest. “He’s trying to kill _you_.”

Bucky eyed her while Steve froze. After ten seconds, Bucky looked back through the one-way glass, studying the man carefully. “I don’t recognise him.”

“That’s because you’re not supposed to know him. He was hired by someone else to hunt you down and have you killed,” Sam cut in. 

“Did he give you the name of the person who hired him?” asked Steve. 

“He said the guy who hired him didn’t give him a name, so, no.”

“Is there anyone you think could have a reason to want you dead?” Natasha asked Bucky.

“Not anyone that’s alive,” was the reply. They looked at him suspiciously. “Relax, I was in the military, remember?”

“Do you owe people money?”

He shook his head. “All debts have been paid.”

“Accidentally killed someone from the army?” Sam suggested.   
He glared at him. “I’m a Sergeant, not a monster.”

Natasha sighed. “We need you to do better than that, Mr. Barnes.”

“My name is Bucky.”

“Well, Bucky,” she said. “Your information does not suffice. Is there anything else about you that we should know? Who are your parents?”

“My mom’s name was Jane. She died ten years ago of lung cancer. I never knew my dad.”

“We can work with that,” said Sam. 

“Thanks, Bucky.” Natasha gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You know, if you’re not currently employed, you should come work for the FBI. We really need someone like you.”

Bucky made no reply.

“Consider it.” She smiled. 

Just then, Steve’s phone rang. He swiped to pick up, answering the call. “It’s the men I called earlier to fix my door,” he told Bucky. 

“Wait, you left your house unguarded without a proper door?” Sam asked. 

“I have insurance,” Steve said. He turned back to Bucky. “You mind staying here while I go take care of the situation at my apartment? You’ll be safer here with these two.”

“Hear that? This guy’s only met us for five minutes and he’s already asking us to babysit his boy toy,” Sam said to Natasha. 

Steve could see Bucky’s subtle smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“Sam, don’t be rude,” Natasha cooed. To Steve, she said, “It’s fine — we may have to go over some more personal details with him anyways.”

Steve grinned, turning to Sam. “If you do anything to my boy toy, you’ll regret it.”

“This coming from a man with no door for his house.”

“Sam.” Natasha was not having it. 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Sam said, half-seriously. “Go protect your house, Steve.”

“Will do,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Bucky.”

Bucky nodded, giving him a brief hug. 

Steve took a cab back to his building. He went up to his penthouse by the elevator. Two men were attaching a new door on the other side of the living room that led to the fire escape. So that was how the intruder got up here, he thought. 

He went into his bedroom, where his luggage were, opening one of the suitcases. He rummaged through his possession until he came to a package. Walking over to his desk, he sat down, reaching into the package and fishing out an envelope, where on the back, in neat handwriting, Bucky’s address was written. He took out the piece of paper in the envelope, unfolding it and stared down at his own handwriting.

This was it — the unsent letter he had vowed to himself multiple times to have it sent. The date indicated that it had been a little over five years since it was written. He had written it when he was drunk — he remembered. His friends back in France had taken him out to a bar one night for drinks. He had refused initially, but eventually, they dragged him to one of those pubs in Paris. He didn’t know whether to blame them or the French bartender with a spaghetti strap crop top who gave him one too many free shots as a way of flirting with him. He appreciated his friends for trying to get him laid, but he was simply not interested in doing so. 

For some reason, that night, while being hammered to the ground, all he could think of was his old friend, Bucky. They used to sneak into bars and nightclubs(and got away with it every time) back in Brooklyn and play the drinking game Bucky had introduced to Steve. Bucky would always win, and Steve would always return home either drunk or dangerously tipsy, while trying to conceal it from his parents by flopping onto his bed as soon as he got home, and then enduring the hangover the next morning. Once, when his parents were away on a business trip, he stayed over at Bucky’s apartment after a night at the pub, where he slept on Bucky’s bed with him. Bucky might’ve wanted to bring a girl home, but upon observing Steve’s state, he brought him back home instead and took care of him. (Throwing up consistently had left his brains all mushed up. It was not a pretty sight.) Bucky had offered to let Steve sleep on his bed while he slept on the floor, but Steve insisted on having Bucky by his side, which Bucky agreed to. Steve remembered clinging onto Bucky tightly and burying himself under his chin for comfort, simultaneously holding himself back (mainly to avoid vomiting all over him). Being in Bucky’s arms was the only real thing he enjoyed that night. No amount of alcohol could topple over that feeling. 

There he was, that night in Paris after turning down an offer from the flirty bartender, curled up in the corner of his bedroom, hugging onto a cushion while managing to hold his pen upright. It was a miracle the handwriting came out nicely(thanks to his OCD syndrome). The letter was shorter than he remembered, and the structure might not be at its best, but the idea came across. 

_Dear Bucky,_

_Again, I’m sorry about your mother. Why didn’t you write back? Where have you been all these years? I miss you so much. I just got drunk in Paris. They say you’re supposed to get drunk in love here. Well — I just got drunk. Remember all the underaged drinking we had? You’d think that would make me a better drinker(it really didn’t). God, I wish you were here with me. These people here don’t know what fun is. I should’ve asked you to come to Paris with me back then. We could’ve travelled all over France and have the best time. That would’ve given me the chance to really fall in love in Paris — with you, maybe. Actually, why not? Don’t you love me, Buck? Well, I love you, Bucky Barnes. I don’t know why — I just do. I love the way you push me into doing things I don’t want to do. I love how I can be myself when I’m around you. I’ve never been more comfortable around anyone else other than you. I hope you feel the same way. You always say you hate yourself. Well, I’m here to tell you that even if you do, and even when there’s no one else left in this world to love you, know that I always will. I love you, Bucky. And if you can find that little piece in your heart that loves yourself, maybe you’ll learn to love me too._

_Love,_  
_Steve_

Steve sank into his chair. He had read the letter over three times now. Silently, he told himself that he was really drunk that night, having to have written everything he had. Yet subconsciously, he knew that if he were to write a letter to Bucky right this moment, when he was as sober as the nun from his church, he would write the exact same words to him.


	4. Past, present and future

The penthouse where Steve grew up in was the only home he had ever known back then before France. In his opinion, it was the best place to live in, and the worst. He had always considered it a gloomy house, where he spent most of his time being alone. And even if he weren’t all by himself, his parents were mostly doing something deemed to be more important than him. He hardly spoke to his father, and though his knew his mother cared for him deeply, she was an emotionally unstable woman. It seemed as though the only real memory he had of that house were the sleepless nights he endured, listening to the faint screams and shouts from the arguments his parents would adhere to every fortnight. 

Sometimes, he wished they were separated, or even better, divorced. Whatever kept the two together all those years, he couldn’t begin to fathom. 

He had hoped to regain a little bit more of the memory of his old home upon visiting his mother the next day post the incident that occurred the day before. Natasha and Sam had agreed to keep him and Bucky updated with anything they discover, and sent a surveillance team to his building to keep them safe for a certain period of time. With that being said, Steve felt comfortable and assured knowing that Bucky would be safe even if he were to leave his penthouse. 

That morning, he got a cab to his old house where Sarah lived. He still remembered where everything was placed, and where each room was, and yet here he sat, his eyes circulating the living room, almost no memory of what he did there was recollected. The events before the age of thirteen had occurred too long ago for him to remember. As for every memory he had after that age were all based on either Bucky or Brooklyn. It felt ironic, thinking back. Steve was raised like every other classic, wealthy, Manhattan Upper East Side boy he knew from his private school, and yet a bigger piece of his heart belonged to Brooklyn — and and even bigger one belonged to Bucky.

“You seem awfully quiet today, Steven,’ Sarah said to him. “Tea?” She held up a teacup. 

“Well, it’s a quiet house.” He took the teacup from her, pouring some tea into the cup. “I wouldn’t wanna ruin that.” He settled the teapot down on the table gently. 

“I’m sorry to hear about what happened yesterday,” Sarah continued, “There’s a reason I’m still very much protective over you. There are people out there who want us dead.”

Steve remembered seeing the headlines flashed across the front page of the New York Times earlier at home. So much for trying to keep things low-key. 

“Not as much as they want Bucky dead,” he said faintly. 

She looked at him inquisitively. “I don’t understand.”

“Two FBI agents interviewed the intruder yesterday — he revealed that someone hired him to have Bucky killed, not me.”

She remained silent. 

“Then why are you here, Steven?”

“You know exactly why I’m here,” he said. 

His mother picked up the teacup, bringing it to her lips, taking a sip. As she carefully placed the cup back onto its saucer, she sighed. “Wait here.”

She got up and left the room. A few minutes of waiting and being unsure what he was to expect, Sarah returned with an envelope and what seemed like an old photo on a small, rough piece of paper. She sat down again next to him, handing the picture to Steve, who took it half-reluctantly. He peered at piece of paper, and immediately, an infinite number of questions soared through his mind. 

There were two young girls in the photo, printed in pixelated black-and-white. Judging by the roughness of the paper material and the visual quality of it, the photo had to be taken at least forty or fifty years ago. He recognised one of the girls instantly. 

“That’s you,” he whispered, pointing to her pale face. It had the biggest smile he had ever seen on his mother. Her teeth were so visibly white they must’ve been flashing under the sun. When was the last time she ever smiled like that? He didn’t think he had seen her this happy. 

“That’s me,” she sighed nostalgically. “I was a just a little over eleven or twelve in that photo.”

“Who’s the other girl?” he asked. “Was she your friend?”

“She was my best friend — my only friend,” she said in a faraway voice. 

Steve studied the other girl carefully. Those fine features, that smile — they all added up to something — _someone_ he had seen before and should remember. 

“That’s _her_ ,” he gasped.

Sarah leaned over his shoulder, gazing down at the sight of the girl who shared the same wide smile as her own young self. “That’s her,” she whispered. She lifted the photo out of his hand, smoothing it with a gentle thumb, as if she was caressing the girl. 

“Back then I only knew her as Jane. She came with her mother’s name, Catherine, but we rarely call her that.”

“Were her parents divorced?”

“Like her son, she never knew her father. Her mother died giving birth to her, so she grew up in foster care. For the first few years of her life, she was physically abused by her foster parents and siblings. My father found her one day trying to escape from her foster home. That was how he adopted her and brought her back. I still remember the first time I saw her — she filth of the streets and was barefoot, but… oh, Steven, you should’ve seen her face. She was the most gorgeous little thing you could ever lay eyes on. So sweet and vulnerable, like a pretty tulip.”

Steve had never heard her spoke of anything like that. Not that her usual descriptions were mostly plain, or dull, but they lacked the wonder it had in describing Jane. Strangely, those descriptions reminded Steve of something — someone familiar. 

“That day you took me to Brooklyn when I was thirteen, were you visiting her?”

She nodded. “How could I not? It had been so many years since I saw her last. I left Brooklyn after college to pursue a career in business in Manhattan. She wanted to become a seamstress, and stayed in Brooklyn.”

“Did you know about Bucky back then?”

“I did. I took you to see her once when you were merely a year old. That was when I found out about her affair… and her two-year-old son.”

“Do you know who the father is?”

She shook her head. “She never gave me his name. But apparently, that man had another family, so their relationship had to be kept hidden. He never really loved her — I’m sure of it. But she was so blinded by her own little fantasy, she almost lost everything because of it.”

“So she knew who I was all these years.”

“Of course she did.”

“No wonder she looked at me like she had known me her entire life when I first visited Bucky at their home. But why did she not tell me about her relationship with you?”

“Because she’s Jane.” Sarah took another sip of her tea. “That was simply who she was. I had let her into my world from the very start, but looking back right now, it seemed as though she had never really let me into her own world.”

“And I’m assuming she never told you about Bucky and me either?”

“As I said, she’s Jane.”

“Then how did you find out?”

“Steve, you’re my only son. You think all those years of getting away with coming home late would not put a question to my head? Every person has a tally, and yours has gone off the board. If it wasn’t a something, then it ha to be a someone.”

“But you couldn’t have known it was him. How did you even find him? And what made you decide to help him?”

“The apple never falls far from the tree, Steve. How much different do you think he is to his mother?”

“I’m not sure I know what you are implying.”

“I’m not implying — I’m _stating_ ,” she said. “Jane was best at keeping secrets, the bigger they were, the more she would conceal them. It took her a long time to tell us about her abuse, and that was only after my dad brought her to therapy. So it was natural of her to keep the state of her health from me. It was only ten years ago when she wrote me a letter telling me about her fatality.”

Steve remembered receiving Bucky’s last letter to him. “You must’ve been devastated.”

“Devastated? I felt like a useless brat.” She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Steve had never seen her cry — he had definitely heard her, courtesy to the thin walls in his childhood home, but to see it up close was so unfamiliar and strangely bizarre. 

He wrapped his arms around her. After a few seconds, she looked up, wiping away her tears. “I’m alright. She must’ve finally come to her senses in realising the mistakes she’s made in the past. And knowing that it was too late to make up for them, she made her one final request.”

Steve knew what she meant. “She asked you to take care of Bucky for her.”

She nodded. “I suppose it was her way of showing how sorry she was for shutting me out of her life all these years. By allowing me to help James, in a way, she was able to redeem what she had done. So I did — I carried out her request.”

“But Bucky went into the army.”

“I was careful with not intervening too much. Jane asked me to help him only if I were to ever return to New York. Why did you think I decided to come back here? I was perfectly fine in Paris. But I missed Brooklyn, and her son needed me, so I came back and found him.”

“How?”

“I didn’t go to college without a brain, Steven. I always knew the address on your arm meant something. I found him in his apartment. He was almost lifeless, sort of in the state where his mother was in when I first met her. But nonetheless, I did what I had to do in order to get him back on his feet again.”

“He asked to repay you, didn’t he.”

“He did. But what he was really trying to ask for was to see you. So I asked him to protect you for me.”

“I don’t think I’m the one that needs protecting, Mom.”

“I know that now. But there will always be a part of a soldier that makes them want to protect someone else. If you want to get to know him again, you have to understand that. You have to let him do this for you. If not, he’ll never let you into his world. It’s the only way you can know how you can gain his trust back and protect him in return.”

Steve understood. Asking Bucky to protect him was his mother’s way of trying to heal Bucky. This arrangement had allowed the both of them to gain from the outcome. Bucky could protect Steve, and Steve could take care of Bucky. She really was a businesswoman. Yet there was still a part of it in which he did not understand completely.

“Then why would you think someone was trying to kill me at the first place?”

“How much did you know your father?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Just answer mine.”

He breathed heavily. “I know he was a well-respected.”

“Did you also know about his debts, alcoholism and aggressiveness?”

He startled. “Subconsciously, I believe.”

“And now you know consciously,” came the reply. “Your father was a fine young man. Everyone knew him as the infamous Joseph Rogers.”

“What was he infamous for?”

“For being the greatest businessman, and the worst. He _was_ well-respected, but not as well-respected as you think he was — at least not when the rumours regarding the beatings surfaced…”

It was at that moment, when Steve looked into his mother’s eyes, he realised the biggest shock was yet to come. 

“He _didn’t_.”

“Behind every rumour lies a truth.” Her voice was so small and frail. “A truth I must now bring forth to you.” 

“If I _knew_ he was beating you — if I had _known_ —”

“You would’ve done nothing,” she finished. Her body stiffened. “Because you couldn’t have.”

It was her turn to bring her arms around him. “Your father had many faults. You mustn’t let them be a part of your life and affect you in any way.”

“I thought he was a great man.”

“And he _was_. That doesn’t make him a good one. And now, because of his flaws, he had brought upon us his enemies. _This_ is why you have to be careful.”

He buried himself in her arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

As soon as he broke away from her, she picked up the envelope off the table and gently shoved it into his hands. “This came with the letter Jane sent me.” He turned it over. On the back, it had in the most intricately written calligraphy, _To Steve_. 

“Read it when the time is right.”

“When would that be?”

“You’ll know.”

As much as Steve wanted a follow-up from the vague response(he absolutely despised these type of responses), he knew he had to leave. There was a higher call. By that, he meant there was a lone ex-soldier in his house who needed tending to. 

He had never left any place with a heavier heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this doesn't bore you too much, but it's crucial to the story. Something will come out of it, I promise;)


	5. To be taken care of

“GET OFF ME!”

“DON’T DO THIS!”

“HELP!”

“NO!”

Steve bursted into the room. Bucky laid flat on the bed, his stiffened body struggling to fight off the images in his head. His screams and shouts had been evident since day one when he moved into Steve’s house. There were nights when he did not move a muscle, but most were subjected to a series of utter pandemonium that warped through the apartment like devilish creatures priding on the walls. 

Tonight was one of those nights. The sonic boom that propelled all the way to Steve’s room brought him out of bed in no time. He didn’t even bother putting his pants on. He ran into Bucky’s room in his boxers, anxiety soaring through his adrenaline while trying to maintain calm. It had been three months — surely he was used to this by now. Yet it didn’t annihilate the fact that he did not know whether he could amount to any more of it. 

“Bucky?!”

He ran a hand across the side of Bucky’s face. Poor boy, he thought. Bucky’s hair tickled between his fingers, leaving his skin wet and slimy. He was covered in sweat. 

Thankfully, after gently shaking his body, his eyes finally opened to Steve’s presence. His first instinct was to sit up, while Steve massaged his scalp in the hopes of relieving the searing headache. He blinked, once, twice, three times. 

“How’d I do?” he asked hoarsely. 

“Your lovely voice was heard loud and clear as always,” said Steve. 

He bowed down his head, shaking it miserably. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.’ Steve squatted down so that they were at the same height. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”

Bucky looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

Steve had tried all sorts of things. He had sat Bucky down and tried to get him to open up about his past during the war. The first few times, Bucky refused in his best manner. “Not today,” he had said. “I’m not ready.” After a solid month of Steve’s constant encouragement, his response had been narrowed down to a simple, “No.” During quite a few occasions, he even very pointedly said, “Fuck off, Steve — honestly.”

He had asked Bucky if he preferred speaking to a therapist. Again the suggestion was shot down bluntly. Bucky was still broken inside, as much as he was not on a physical level, and he was simply not ready to be fixed just yet. 

His mother had warned him to let things run its course. Perhaps Steve was approaching this the wrong way. Bucky hadn’t yet had the chance to take care of Steve and protect him, like it was initially planned — Steve had already jumped onto him like he was his prey. It was a tough love situation, and as sad as it sounded, Steve had no clue where it was going. 

He fell asleep while trying to coo Bucky back to sleep, on his bed right next to him. The following morning, he awoke to Bucky’s unbelievably gorgeous face, hanging above him, staring down onto his own. Instantly, he cringed — he didn’t like how he looked particularly in the morning. 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Bucky’s deep voice sang into his ears. 

“Ugh.” He sat up next to him. “What time is it?”

“Around ten.”

“What time did you wake up?”

“Bout an hour ago.”

Steve smirked. “And you just sat there watching me sleep?”

“Can’t think of anything else better to do.” He smiled. “Besides — it’s quite entertaining, you have no idea. And it’s refreshing having to look at someone else sleep as opposed to the other way round like it has been in the last couple of months.”

“Not when that someone look like complete shit in the mornings.”

“You’re setting the boundaries for looking like shit pretty damn high there, Rogers,” he said. “Stop being so fucking modest.”

“I’m not,” he insisted. “I mean every word I say as it is.”

“For fuck’s sake, Steve. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” Bucky’s eyes sparkled under the morning light. “You look like… you look like an angel,” he managed to blurt out the words. 

Steve blinked. “Really?” He didn’t think Bucky had ever said something like that to him before.

“I mean every word I say as it is.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, thank your mom for that face. Come on — go wash up. I’ll make breakfast.”

Steve did as he was told. They had bacon, omelettes with french toast, in which they ate in silence for the next thirty minutes. Bucky watched as Steve finished his last strip of bacon. He took the empty plate from him, running a hand through Steve’s soft blonde hair, fiddling with it, saying, “Good boy.” 

He helped Bucky with the washing up. 

“Any plans for today?” Bucky asked him, passing a clean, wet plate for him to dry. It was a Saturday morning. 

“I was thinking of going to the gym,” said Steve. 

Bucky looked at him. “I’ll come with you.”

After cleaning up, they changed into some comfortable gym wear and headed down to the gym. Steve took the treadmill, as usual, while Bucky resided to the weights. Twenty minutes went by as they carried on with their workouts separately, until Steve decided to go over to the weights. 

He was just settling down to have a sip of water, when he saw Bucky weight-lifting in the other side of the room. He had never watched him closely during their previous workouts before, so the curiosity and fascination took over him. He observed intently. Bucky’s arm muscles tensed to every lift, his abdominal muscles flexing underneath his tight shirt. Steve found his own mouth water involuntarily. Shuddering at himself, he pushed his thoughts aside. 

In order to stop himself from looking at Bucky too much, he parked himself underneath one of the weights, beginning his own workout. The restraint did not take long. After a few minutes, Steve caught Bucky walking up to him with his tight shirt now completely off and hanging around his neck. His skin glistened with pure sweat. Steve dribbled. 

Bucky handed him a towel as Steve sat up on the weight-lifting bench. “You’re so wet, Stevie,” he teased with a casual smirk. 

He took the towel, wiping the trace of sweat on his forehead and neck. “You’re gonna make people jealous looking like that, Buck.”

The gorgeous man cocked his head to one side. “Am I making _you_ jealous of my body, Stevie?” he asked mockingly. 

That made him laugh. Not just jealous, he thought. “Come on, let’s get back before you start receiving death threats.”

Bucky helped him off the bench. 

“You showering?” Bucky asked as soon as they were back in the penthouse. They had gone upstairs to the den that led to all the other rooms in the house, including theirs. 

He nodded. Bucky kicked off his shoes and bent down slightly, stripping down his shorts, leaving his bare body on display in front of him. Steve swallowed at the sight. 

“You really don’t have to strip off everything before getting into the shower, Buck.”

He picked up his shorts. “Why not? I feel hot to the bone, and it’s not like anyone can see me other than you. Besides, you like seeing me like this, don’t you, Stevie?”

Steve gulped. He wasn’t sure if it was just a sarcastic tease or he was actually being serious. Bucky began walking towards his bedroom to his shower. 

“Wait — Buck,” Steve piped up. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to shower separately — it’s a huge waste of water. That wouldn’t do too good for the… environment.” _Really, Steve?_ he thought.

The corner of Bucky’s red lips curled upwards. “Saving water it is, then.” 

Steve did not know what to think. He walked into his bathroom, taking off his clothing while Bucky watched him intently with a lazy smile on his face. Despite the loss of privacy, Steve felt surprisingly… comfortable with the scenario. 

As they stepped into the shower together, Bucky pointed out, “We’ve never done this before as kids.”

“Yea, why is that?” He turned the shower on. Warm water sprayed onto his back.

“Because you were a shy little prick.”

Steve laughed half-heartedly. He remembered the late nights they used to spend together at Bucky’s old home. They would shower in the mornings, and Steve would refuse to shower with Bucky every time Bucky offered. He couldn’t bear the thought of Bucky seeing himself bare. 

“Well, I didn’t like my body back then,” he said softly. 

“What’s wrong with your body back then?” 

“I was so… thin.”

“Steve, you were a kid — it’s called growing up.” He squeezed some shampoo into his hand, rubbing both hands together until white foam appeared. “Turn around.”

Steve obeyed, leaning back slightly as Bucky took his hair into his hands, massaging his scalp.

“So were you.”

“Have you any idea how much physical movement I had to endure back then?” he snapped. “I did all the chores at home, and I _walked_ to school — unlike some people, who have drivers driving them everywhere.”

Fair point, Steve thought. He closed his eyes, basking upon the touch of Bucky’s fingers between his hair, tickling his scalp. 

“So stop whining about it,” Bucky continued. “You’re beautiful, Stevie — then and now.”

Steve was leaning so close to him, his back brushed against Bucky’s wet chest. He felt a warm and a fuzzy feeling propagating across his body. 

“Steve—” Bucky startled as his hardening cock brushed against Steve’s hole, making Steve’s own hard-on throb. 

_Shit._ He had to restrain himself. Bucky’s touch was so good, but so wrong. He turned round quickly to face him before anything else happened. Bucky watched Steve as he rinsed his own hair with water. The elder boy licked his lips. Steve’s pulse quicken. 

Bucky reached down to grab a bar of soap, foaming his hands with bubbles. He dropped the bar of soap back to its place, taking a step closer to Steve. He grabbed him by the waist, rubbing a hand onto his chest. Steve fidgeted, wriggling at his touch. 

“Stay still — stop moving,” Bucky hissed. He seized one of Steve’s arms to keep him still, only to catch sight of the tattoo underneath his skin. It caught his attention immediately. Bringing two hands to lift up his arm, he examined it carefully, reading the meticulous calligraphy. He blinked, looking up at Steve after a few seconds, saying, “You had my address _tattooed_?”

Steve nodded. “So I’ll never forget.”

“You never told me about this.”

“You never asked. I assumed you already know — you’ve seen it many times.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped towards the tattoo. “I thought it was a French quote or something. The handwriting’s so nicely done.” He returned his gaze back to Steve. “Oh my god, Stevie, this is amazing. I can’t believe you actually did this.”

As he said those words, his hands moved faster across his body, rubbing smoothly against his skin. They started from his stomach, then to his chest, over his shoulders, then travelled down his back. Once they reached his ass, Steve felt his dick twitched. Bucky’s eyes never left his, his hands working around his butt cheeks, rubbing it clean. Slowly, they came round his hips, tracing his groin, until they reached —

“Stop,” Steve demanded. 

Bucky’s hands came to a halt. “What’s wrong?” They were leaning so close to each other, their noses almost touched.

“I can’t let you do this,” he whispered.

Bucky lowered his hands down. “You’re right — I’m sorry.” He turned and headed towards the shower door, sliding it. “Next time, make it clear that you don’t want to be taken care of.”

“Wait — I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve pleaded. “I want you to take care of me, but—”

“Then why are you acting like you don’t?” he snapped.

“I…”

“It’s fine,” he said coldly. “I’ll shower in my room. Take care of yourself, Steve.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving Steve standing there alone. Steve felt numb as he stepped out of the shower after rinsing himself off. It all happened so quickly — he didn’t know how to comprehend. Why didn’t he just let Bucky do whatever the heck he wanted with him?

The cold air in his room hit him as he stepped into his bedroom, making him tremble. _Oh, Bucky,_ he thought, _you have no idea how much I want to touch you without any restriction._

As his thoughts went wild with the gorgeous man across the hall, his reached down to his still wet and already hard cock, working his own hands across the shaft. A few strokes in and he was already moaning uncontrollably. 

In fact, he was so deep in the pleasure that he didn’t hear the door creak open. “Steve, I just wanna tell you I’m sorry for what I said earlier—”

Steve froze, chills swarming across his adrenaline. Though his back was facing the door, he could feel Bucky freezing at the sight of him. For a whole ten seconds, silence filled the room. 

Steve’s hands were still tightly wrapped around himself. He swallowed, speaking softly, yet loud enough for the sound to reach across the room, “So are you gonna take care of me or what?”

He didn’t hear the door close, but footsteps seemed to be drawing closer and closer to him. As they came to a halt, Steve felt a warm, bare chest pressing against his back and two strong arms wrapping around him. Bucky rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder, slowly removing Steve’s hand off of his hard member, replacing them with his own. Steve quivered. 

“Just relax,” he whispered into his ear. 

He began to stroke him, slowly and gently at first, then picking up the pace gradually. Steve brought his hands behind him to seize onto Bucky’s hips, which were thrusting to the rhythm of his strokes. The hem on his sweatpants were dangerously low. Steve let out a loud sigh, grasping onto his hips for more support as he thrusted himself between Bucky’s hands. 

After a few more fast strokes, he came, clenching onto Bucky’s hips, spewing his seeds all over the floor. Bucky pumped him hard, squeezing out every drop before releasing him, his fingers smeared with Steve’s cum. 

“Thank you,” Steve sighed, panting hard. 

Bucky took a step backwards. “Clean up,” he told him. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

Steve cleaned up the mess, replaying the event in his head over and over again. Bucky’s hands were beyond tasteful — the hotness of his skin against his. He loved every second of it. 

The rest of the day went by quickly. Steve buried himself in his art studio(he had it specially renovated for its purpose) and thought about nothing but his latest creations. He had to finish them by Monday, as they were all expecting something from him at the studio. 

That night, he laid on his bed, twisting and turning. He had managed to go half a day without thinking about Bucky, and yet his handsome face kept on appearing in his mind. 

Fuck it, he thought.

He got out of bed and walked over to Bucky’s room in his boxers. Outside Bucky’s door, he heard faint noises of panting and the bed screeching ominously. Nightmares again, he presumed. He pushed the door open, peering into the darkness. As he stepped closer towards the bed, his pulse sped up instantly. Bucky was jerking off underneath the covers. 

“Bucky…”

He opened his eyes, acknowledging Steve’s presence. “I couldn’t help myself,” he managed to gasp out the words, “seeing you today…”

“Can I sleep on your bed with you tonight?”

He looked at him, a grin appearing on his face. “Of course you can, Stevie.”

Steve climbed onto the bed next to him, pulling him closer until they were fully in each other’s arms. “I really missed this,” Steve whispered. He took Bucky’s cock in his hands and stroked it hard until he came. They fell asleep, clinging onto one another for the rest of the night. 

“We’re running out of food,” Bucky told him the next morning. “I’m going out to get some groceries.”

“Sure,” said Steve.

He decided to do a quick sketch of his next artwork after Bucky left the penthouse. Just as he was about to sit down at the counter in the kitchen with a pencil and a piece of blank paper, the intercom rang. He pressed the button to answer. A postman had a package delivered for him. 

The postman came up by the elevator, handing him a small cardboard box. It was quite a heavy load. He signed the tab and sat back down at the counter, staring at it for about ten seconds, before taking a closer look at it. He frowned. It indicated on the package that it was from his old address in Paris. He had rented out his apartment, so it must’ve been from the people now living there. 

He tore the cardboard open, his eyes widening at the sight before him. Inside the package were thick stacks of letters tied together in a string. In what world would there be that many letters sent to him in such short notice? And why were they all sent to his old address? He had made sure that everything was changed to his new address. 

Steve untied the knots on the strings, the letters falling into colossal heaps. He fixed them up neatly in chronological order according to the dates stamped on the back of each envelope. It was so bizarre, as the earliest ones dated back to almost nine years ago, and they were all from the same person. He opened the first envelope, unfolding the letter until his heart stopped. 

The letters were from Bucky.


	6. Long-lost letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so just a warning: there's explicit content in this chapter. But enjoy anyways;)

Steve sat there staring at the first letter for a whole three minutes. He had read it over and over and over again in the last five minutes — possibly the tenth time now. Not that he was a particularly quick reader. It was a short letter, yet it meant so much. 

_Dear Steve,_

_I went to apply for a place in the military a few months ago. Sorry for not writing to you sooner — I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, especially after my mom. She used to tell me, “If you really want something, you don’t stop for anything or anyone until you get it.” You must’ve heard her say this too many times, so — this is it, Stevie. This is what I want — to fight for my country. I hope you’re happy for me. They’re shipping us to England first thing tomorrow. I’ll write to you as soon as I get the chance. Take care of yourself._

_Love,_   
_Bucky_

A moment of realisation hit Steve like a huge wave crashing onto the rocks. Bucky had never stopped writing to him. For some weird reason, they must had all gotten lost in the mail. 

He turned to look at the rest of the pile. There were so many — at least fifty of them. One by one, he tore open the envelopes, reading Bucky’s letters. They varied in length, depending on the month and place he stationed in. Steve couldn’t believe the number of countries he had been to. They spread across different continents — from Europe to Africa to the Middle East. He sensed the excitement through his letters. It was as if he himself was travelling all over the globe with his best friend, enduring the hardships of training and war. At first, it started out with Bucky being the underdog of the team. As he read on, Steve saw the development that had begun to change him, making him into a soldier. He watched Bucky rose fast and high among the troops, becoming Sergeant James Barnes, leading the team and coming up with war tactics. He understood why this Sergeant was well-known on the war zone. 

It took him a little over two hours to go through nearly all of them. It was when he came to the very last letter when he realised how different a person he saw Bucky all of a sudden. All this time, Steve thought he himself had grown so much — from being an art scholar to a well-known artist in France. This sort of growth was nowhere near Bucky’s, who had come out of his shell to see the world as it is. He had seen so much more, done so much more, learnt so much more, suffered so much more. Steve wondered why Bucky never really talked about any of the experiences he mentioned in his letters. If they weren’t all bad, surely he should be comfortable with sharing them, shouldn’t he? He had, in certain occasions, referred to some past events, but they were all very brief. 

This was it — the final letter. It dated back to nearly five years ago. What stopped him from writing any more after that? Steve tore it open, unfolding the paper. 

_Dear Steve,_

_They’re shipping us to Moscow tomorrow. Something serious is happening — I can’t guarantee what’s going to happen to me. I was discussing our mission with my team yesterday, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. To be honest, I can’t stop thinking about you right now. We’ve been through so much together, but there’s still so much we haven’t done, and may not get to do. I’m not trying to scare you, but if anything at all really does happen to me — if I get killed in action, there’s something I want you to know, something I should’ve told you before you left for France._

_My dearest Steven Grant Rogers, I love you. I have been in love with you from the very beginning, and I am very much in love with you now. All these years of wishing how I could’ve told you this sooner in person, because if I had, perhaps you would’ve reconsidered your departure, and I could’ve stopped you from leaving me forever. I guess all I can ask for is for you to take care of yourself… for me. I love you, Stevie — I can’t stop saying it. And I will keep on saying it to myself until I die. I love you._

_Love,_   
_Bucky_

If someone had asked Steve to describe his own feelings right now, it would’ve been near impossible for him to do so. There were simply no words he could begin with. He reread the second part of the letter over and over, just as he did for the first letter, processing the words and reprocessing them, allowing them to sink into his bloodstream through his skin. He inhaled them like a drug addict inhaled heroine. All of a sudden, he was back in that drunken night — the night he wrote his unsent letter while trying to stop himself from passing out. 

Just as he was rereading it for what seemed like the a hundredth time, the doors on the elevator slid open. A very satisfied Bucky walked in, holding onto countless shopping bags. He came to the kitchen and plopped them all on the floor. 

“They ran out of spinach in almost every grocery store — I had to go into Wholefoods,” he announced. 

Steve barely heard him. He was too transfixed in his own trance. 

“What’s all this?” Bucky slowly began to make his way to the counter, observing the piles of torn open envelopes and unfolded pieces of paper. He picked up one of the letters. As soon as his eyes hit the writing, it slipped out of his fingers. He turned to Steve, his eyes trembling. “Where did you get this?”

“A package arrived as soon as you left,” he replied softly. 

Bucky swallowed. “I thought they all got lost in the mail.”

He observed his expression. “Apparently not.”

Bucky made no reply. 

Steve held out the letter in his hand towards him. “This was your last one.”

“I know what I wrote.”

He slowly put it back down onto the counter. “Buck—”

“Just forget what I said there.”

Steve frowned deliberately. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, but I don’t understand,” he persisted. “You _told_ me—”

“Never mind what I told you,” he snapped. “Let it go, okay?”

He shook his head. “No — I can’t, and I’m not going to.” He picked up the letter again and showed held it out right in front of his face. “Look at what you wrote, Buck. How do you expect me to just _let it go_?”

Bucky looked away. “I wrote that so many years ago, Steve. I’m a different person now than I was then.”

He bit his lower lip in frustration. “Fine,” he sneered. “Then I guess I’m free to tear this up right here, right now, huh, Buck?”

His fingers began to move. Before the paper ripped, Bucky seized his hand abruptly. “Alright, I get it — you win.”

Steve stopped, lowering his hands to his sides. “You’re still mad at me for not replying any of your letters.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I know they never reached you, so it wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why are you looking at me like it _is_ my fault?”

“Because I don’t wanna be alone in this!” he thundered. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself. I can’t—” He turned and began walking upstairs. Steve stared at him until he disappeared into the hallway. 

Bucky had refused to say anything. Steve could only think of one thing he could do to free him from his own shell of insecurity he had incapsulated himself in. 

When he walked into Bucky’s room, he saw a lump under the covers. 

“Buck.” He ran a hand up the elder boy’s back and neck, ending it with a gently caress of his hair. “You don’t have to talk to me, but I want you to read this.” He plopped the unsent letter he wrote on his drunken night on Bucky’s bed beside him. 

Steve sat on the couch in the living room, contemplating his options. Yet the truth of the matter was: there was only one. He couldn’t think of anything else he could’ve done. All this time of trying to fix Bucky like he was something that’s broken and had to be fixed, when all he needed to fix was the way he saw him. Bucky was flawed, and he came back so different from before, but he was still the same boy who pulled Steve out of a fight and many more fights after — the same boy who gave him a friendship he never thought he deserved. 

Footsteps. They sounded slow and heavy, yet ultimately relieving. Steve looked up to see Bucky standing right in front of him. His eyes were red from crying, he could tell. There were no words left for him to say — everything had been said in the letter. 

“Bucky—”

He seized Steve by the collar, pulling him from the couch towards him, giving him the one thing he had ever longed for. It was the soppiest of kisses; it was the sweetest of kisses. It was the most beautiful, heart-wrenching, cliché kiss of all. 

Bucky wrapped his own lips around Steve’s, nibbling and sucking them like his life depended on it. Steve responded with the same actions, clenching his waist and grasping onto his shirt. How he wanted to rip them into pieces just to get to Bucky’s hot skin. Bucky’s metal hand cupped his face, the other pushing him backwards as they both fell onto the couch together — Bucky on top and Steve under him. They grabbed onto each other, running their hands along one another’s bodies. Steve had one of his hands on Bucky’s waist, slipping into his shirt and sliding it across his back. 

He moaned at the touch of Steve’s warm hand on his skin, arching slightly, thrusting his pelvis onto his. It was that moment when Bucky released his lips, leaning back to take a better view of the ecstatic angel below him. 

“You really meant what you said there?” he asked him.

“You know I can only speak the truth when I’m drunk,” Steve reminded him. He pushed himself to sit up on the couch, with Bucky still straddling on him. “So we’re good now?”

“Not yet — I need to hear you say it — right now, _looking into my eyes_.”

Steve brought a hand to cup his chin, their eyes meeting. “I love you, Bucky Barnes,” he declared. “I’ve loved you since the day you pulled me off that trash can.”

A wide smile took over Bucky’s lips. God, he was handsome. “You know what I thought when I first saw you?”

“What?” Steve asked, continuing to gaze into his blue eyes. 

“I thought God had sent me an angel, and if anyone dares lay a finger on my angel, you can bet your tight ass they will pay.”

Steve’s pelvis arched up to meet his. “Really?”

“Really.” Bucky leaned down to kiss him, licking his now wet lips. “And the second thing I thought was he’s the cutest angel there is — and he’s got the most beautiful name: Steve.”

Steve kissed him back, then leaning back, saying, “You think I’m cute?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You’re too good for me, Bucky,” he mumbled between his lips.

“I don’t care,” murmured him in response. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you too, Buck.”

“Oh, Stevie,” he sighed, lowering himself to plant hungry kisses on his soft, pale neck. “The things I want to do to you.”

“Like what?”

Bucky lifted his head away from his neck. “I want to take every single one of your clothing one by one off that tight body of yours, until I find you perfectly naked under me.”

Steve found it harder and harder to restrain himself. “And then what?”

“Then I’ll touch you soft and slow until you beg me to make you come.” He pushed himself downwards, lifting Steve’s shirt up by an inch to nibble on his groin. Steve closed his eyes, feeling Bucky’s wet mouth above his trousers. 

“Ah… then what will you do?”

Bucky’s eyes looked up from his position, staring straight at Steve’s angelic face. Slowly, his slid his head upwards, his lips tracing Steve’s happy trail, using a hand to push the hem of his shirt as he went. His nipples revealed as Bucky wrapped his lips around one of them, licking it in circles, nibbling and sucking on the tip. Steve moaned. “Bucky…”

He leaned back, fully sitting on top of him now, still tasering his nipple. “Then I’ll fuck you, Steve, nice and slick — just how I like it.” He gave his nipple a few gentle flicks with his thumb.

Steve sighed aloud, his cock hardening by the second. He sat up, smashing his lips onto Bucky. “Do it,” he implored. “Fuck me, Bucky.”

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, softly, looking down at him while cupping his chin. “I’m going to make love to you—” at this point leaning forwards to take a sensual bite at his earlobe— “because you fucking deserve better than that.”

They devoured each others’ mouths, sitting up on the couch. After about two minutes of making out, Bucky let go, climbing off him. Steve fixed his own shirt into place as Bucky pulled him off the couch, giving me another kiss on the lips. 

“Are you really gonna make love to me?” Steve asked hopefully. 

“Steve, my boner can hardly wait any longer.”

“Then take care of me, baby.”

“Upstairs — my room — now.”

They walked upstairs together. Steve’s feelings were now a mixture of excitement, anxiety and anticipation — but mostly excitement. His legs were so numbed they felt like jell-o. As soon as they reached Bucky’s room, Bucky seized him from behind, turning him round, yanking the shirt off of him. His hungry eyes lingered across Steve’s body, then stepping forward to give him a sensual kiss before pushing him onto the bed. 

Steve pushed himself further up, while watching Bucky strip down his clothing, his gaze unable to leave the enormous erection in front of him. He had evidently seen it before — yet this time, he was able to stare at it for as long as he wanted. Bucky reached down to stroke himself with a metal hand, making his mouth water. He had never been more turned on.

Bucky climbed onto the bed, slowly crawling towards him, his eyes not leaving his for a second, until his lips reached one of his sensitive nipples, extending a wet tongue to lick the tip. Steve couldn’t take it anymore — he needed to feel Bucky’s large cock on his right this second. 

“Baby…” he moaned, his hand tightly grasping the sheets underneath him, arching his body up to greet Bucky’s. “Please… let me come with your penis now.”

He stopped teasing him, kneeling upright on top of his quivering body. Seizing the hem of his pants, he unzipped them, rolling them down along with his boxers until a full erection popped up from underneath. 

He observed it with a sly smile. “Looks like someone’s as excited as I am.” He slid his pants off in one swift move, then grabbed his balls, giving them a strong grasp, making Steve cry out loud, “Bucky!”

“You know what I like most about this house, Stevie?” he cooed, leaning in to give him a hot kiss on the mouth, his hand still firmly wrapped around his balls. “You can scream as loud as you want, and no one will hear you.”

“They might from downstairs,” Steve managed to croak. 

Bucky squeezed him even harder. “In that case, make them know who I am, my sweet doll.”

“Not until you satisfy me, baby.”

He let go of him. A soft sigh escaped Steve mouth. 

“I have lube in my room,” Steve told him. 

“That won’t be necessary.” 

Bucky pushed himself down to his erection. Before he could say another word, the gorgeous man traced his tongue along the underside of it until he reached the tip, where he licked him continuously, tasting the pre-cum that was already seeping out. He took him all in. Steve watched his head bobbing up and down, before slamming his eyes shut to fully feel himself grinding into Bucky’s hot mouth. 

After a few seconds, Bucky released him, his cock now wet and smooth. He gently pulled Bucky up towards him, capturing his own taste in the elder boy’s mouth. “Now you’re ready,” Bucky mumbled. 

They pressed their cocks against each other’s, thrusting and grinding hard, not taking their eyes off of one another. Steve brought his arms around his body, feeling the touch of his skin on his hands. 

“Bucky, your cock feels so good,” Steve moaned. He slammed his balls onto Bucky’s. 

“You like my cock, baby?” he panted. 

“Yes, give me more of it.”

He rode him harder and faster. Their sensual moans and cries filled the room. Steve grabbed onto him more tightly, a hand reaching down to grasp to his tight ass, squeezing his butt-cheek until he swore he could see Bucky’s pupils dilate. He brought his head down and kissed him messily, simultaneously biting his lip, giving them a darker shade of red. 

Steve could hardly believe what was happening. Bucky was making love to him, the way he had dreamt of his entire life. The sensation of having Bucky on top of him and feeling his weight barricading his body was beyond overwhelming. Having to look at his god-like face and staring into his eyes while having sex with him was even more so. 

“Buck… I’m gonna come,” he blurted out unconsciously. 

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged him.

Sure enough, Steve came to those words, his cum exploding through the tip of his cock, spraying all over their stomachs. “Bucky!” A few more hard and quick grinds. Bucky arched his body to the last and the hardest, his eyes slamming shut, raising his head up while coming furiously all over Steve and himself. 

“Oh — Steve!” a loud cry escaped his mouth, before falling straight onto his chest.


	7. The truth behind every nightmare

The room was dark and quiet. Underneath the warm covers were two very naked men clinging onto one another like small animals clinging onto a tall tree. Steve awoke to the soft breathing of the beautiful man next to him. He gently caressed his long hair, admiring the ecstatic view in front of him, so close he could see the subtle movements of his eyelids. Such long and pretty eyelashes, Steve thought to himself. 

The digital clock on the bedside read 1:07. What happened last night? Steve laid on the bed, recalling the details. He remembered that after their love fest, it took them almost forever to return to the kitchen, where Bucky made a late lunch, with Steve staring at his ass the entire time. Following lunch, they sat down on the couch together, reading and rereading Bucky’s letters. It was just like old times — just the two of them by side by side enjoying each other’s company, except a bit more touching and kissing. Bucky had brought all his experiences from war to life for Steve. It turned him on so much seeing his sexy Sergeant getting excited from telling his stories, that by the time they made it through two thirds of the letters, they were already lying on the couch — naked and spent. 

None of them wanted to leave the couch. Steve had never felt this alive for anything since — well, since ever. Eventually, they put on some clothing (by clothing, I mean only boxers, which meant they were still half-naked) and got off the couch. It was already time for dinner. Steve put the letters back into their designated envelopes and tucked them away to his study, where he could reread them whenever he felt like it. 

When he returned to the kitchen, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table with dinner nicely made, himself gloriously naked and begging to be touched. He didn’t allow Steve to do so until they had finished their meal. They sat there, facing each other, eating the food, with Steve unable to take his eyes off of Bucky, while thinking of the hundred of different ways he could eat him up.

It was bound to happen. As soon as the last piece of food left the plate, Steve pushed himself off his chair and under the table, crawling towards Bucky. He arrived in between his legs, taking him all in one go without thinking twice. He had just had a full meal (it was a good meal — Bucky’s cooking skills had always been on point), and yet it was unable to fulfil his ultimate hunger — his hunger for Bucky (to be more specific at this precise moment, for Bucky’s cock). 

Steve blew him with no remorse, sucked him so hard he came in less than thirty seconds. To be fair, watching Steve all longing and desperate for him had turned him on prior to the blow job. He picked Steve up from the ground, who sat on his lap and began making out with him. 

“Dinner was lovely, Buck,” Steve told him.

“Anything for you — as long as you behave.” He bit his lip playfully. 

Eventually, they ended their night in bed together. Steve had planned on making love to Bucky after showering, but as soon as he got out of the shower, Bucky was already fast asleep on Steve’s bed. Steve gave him a peck on the cheek, crawling into the covers next to him and falling asleep. The sex could wait, he decided. They couldn’t possibly do everything in a day. 

And now, here he was, woken up in the middle of the night. As he laid in bed contemplating, Bucky stirred next to him. 

“Please don’t,” he seemed to be pleading. His eyelids moved quicker than usual, and he was beginning to shiver all over. 

Steve knew he had to wake him up before the dream turned into a nightmare. He put a hand on Bucky, shaking him gently. He mumbled something, then slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times, diverting them to Steve. Even under the darkness, Steve could faintly spot a tear rolling down his cheek. 

“Oh, Steve.” He bursted into tears. “You’re here. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” Steve wrapped his arms around him. Bucky buried his head under his neck. “It’s okay.”

After a few minutes, Bucky looked up at him. “I can’t begin to think how many questions you have.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Steve assured him. 

“Yes, I do,” he said. “I can’t do this to you, Steve — it’s so unfair to you.”

“But you’re not ready.”

“I am — and I was a long time ago.” He swallowed. “I was just afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you — again.” He nearly choked on his words. “When you left for France that day, I honestly thought I had lost you forever. I don’t think I can go through that ever again.”

Steve gazed down at the man in his arms, caressing his hair. “Why would I ever leave you?”

“Why not?” he said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not the same person I was.”

“Bucky, what happened in Russia?”

It took him five seconds to answer. “They had us surrounded, Steve. It was so cold… the cliff was practically made out of ice — the edge was probably a hundred metres away from the ground…

“I was forced to jump, Steve. I had no choice — they’d driven me over the edge. All I wanted was to die — to die thinking nothing else but you. But they wouldn’t let me die. Why would they? I was of use to them. They had to saw off my broken arm and attach a new one. I never thought I could amount to that much pain, or even thought it could get any worse in the slightest, until they put me on that bench. Do you know how many megavolts it takes to brainwash a person?”

Tears streamed through Steve’s eyes like a dreaded downpour, soaking his cheeks and chin. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine the scenario. Simply listening to Bucky’s descriptions was pain excruciating enough. 

“It felt like a thousand needles sinking into my scalp. But you know what the worst part is? Every time I got off the bench, I felt nothing. It was as if the entire world meant nothing to me. I still remember every single person I killed for them, but back then I would feel nothing. They numbed my feelings, Steve. I wasn’t a person — I was a monster.

“If they let me, I’d go through having my arm sawed off every single day. I’d rather have pain eat me alive than feel like a fucking empty shell.”

“Do you see them often in your nightmares?” Steve’s question came out as a fearful whisper.

“It’s either them or the people I was assigned to kill,” he croaked in reply. ‘Three years… three years it took America to take me out of that hellhole. Not that it helped much. I spent the next few months continuing to feel nothing. My memory had almost been wiped out — I remembered nearly nothing of the past. All I was able to recall was a faint memory of you. Everything else was a complete blur. They tried everything, but nothing worked. I had to get a job to support myself, but who would ever take a veteran?

“If it weren’t for Sarah, I don’t know how much more debt I could’ve gotten myself into.” He gave a small laugh. “You never told me how much you look like your mother, Steve. As soon as I saw her, I told myself I knew you weren’t someone I’d created in my mind. She helped me recover, paid my debts, fed me. I only started remembering everything a couple of months ago. I remembered meeting you for the first time. I remembered not being able to stop thinking about you right after, wondering if I’d ever see you again. I remembered being your best friend — how it was just the two of us against the rest of the world. 

“I remembered falling in love with you, and wondering if you’d ever fall in love me the way I fell in love with you. I remembered crying myself to sleep the night you left me, wishing I had stopped you from leaving, or even asked to go with you.”

“Why didn’t you ask to go to Paris with me?”

“Because I was afraid you’d say no. I needed to know I mean as much to as you do to me, so I never said anything.”

“I should’ve asked you to come with me — I’m so sorry, Buck. Please forgive me.”

He shook his head. “It was all in such short notice. Besides, I would’ve probably said no anyways. There was no way I could leave my mom behind. I just didn’t want to lose the one man I ever loved.”

Steve pulled him closer and hugged him tighter. If only he was able to understand what Bucky had went through. Ten years ago, he had the chance to relieve Bucky from all his pain. If he had opened up to Bucky back then, perhaps the most important woman in his life wouldn’t have pulled him away from the most important man in his life. 

“Bucky,” he sighed, repeating his name many times after. He couldn’t get enough of him. 

“Steve,” he purred into his neck. 

“I promise I will never leave you again.” Steve pulled himself back, staring into Bucky’s eyes once again, this time, producing a thumb to wipe away the tears under his eyes. Hearing this, the man leaned in, planting kisses onto the tears that had invaded his angelic face. 

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.” He leaned in, kissing him on his wet lips. “Let me take care of you until we die.”

Bucky gave him a small smile. “You can start by making love to me now, my sweet doll. I didn’t give you the chance last night.”

“As you wish, baby.”

They made out frantically, feeling each other’s bodies. It was dark, but no light was needed for Steve to slowly remove Bucky’s boxers and his own, discarding them onto the floor. 

He reached down, taking ahold of Bucky’s cock, which was becoming friendlier by the second to his greeting. After a few gently strokes, it was already in an upright position. Tracing his hand downwards, passing his balls to his ass, he slipped two fingers in. Bucky arched up, his head falling hard against the pillows, allowing a loud sigh to escape through his lips. 

The fingers wriggled inside him, sliding and rubbing. Using the other arm to pull his legs towards himself as he knelt in an upright position, he surrounded himself with Bucky’s thighs. Removing his fingers, he murmured, “I’m going to come inside you now, okay?”

“Please,” he implored, “do it now before I burst.”

Steve slid into him, steadying himself to get used to the feeling of being inside him. He was so tight, and somehow having Bucky’s wet asshole pressing against his own hard-on was a feeling so amazing it sent chills all over his body. 

“I’m going to move now.” And he did, slowly at first, listening to Bucky’s quiet pants to the friction. 

“Faster,” Bucky demanded.

Steve obeyed, picking up the pace, and it eventually had him ramming without restraint, clasping onto Bucky’s hips for dear life.

“You okay?” Steve asked mid-way. He didn’t want to hurt him in any way. 

Bucky managed to give him a nod. “Don’t you dare hold back. I’m not letting you out of me until you fuck me clean.”

“Yes, baby.” 

As he carried on, Bucky’s uncontrollable moans propelled the bedroom. 

“What beautiful noises you make.” He bent down, taking his nipple with his lips, tugging it and licking the tip, leaving it wet and slick. 

“Oh, yes — right there, baby,” Bucky moaned, arching even higher, pressing his head harder onto the pillow. “My nipples — play with them, Stevie. I’m all yours.”

He went for the other nipple, teasing it with his tongue, then giving each a couple of flicks. Bucky cried out loud, thrusting himself onto Steve faster. Steve’s cock throbbed inside of him, watching Bucky’s quiver, pre-cum leaking through the hard tip, trickling down onto his balls. Bucky’s insides were glorious, something that can inexplicably be compared to someone from mythology. Possibly Aphrodite, with a body that turned even the most virginal men into lustful creatures. 

Bucky brought his legs onto Steve’s broad shoulders, in which he willingly wrapped his hands round his thighs, supporting the weight of his lower body. They thrusted against each other, going at a pace that was now comfortable for them both.

“Am I going too… fast?” Steve gasped. 

He shook his head vigorously. “Fuck me harder, Steve.”

Steve planted a kiss on one of his thighs, ramming himself into him more forcefully. Bucky’s moans turned into cries. It satisfied Steve, seeing him in such a state. At this point, every sensation seemed to be piling up, reaching a peak so near…

“I’m going to come,” Steve echoed. 

“That’s right… fill me up with your cum, Stevie.”

That did it. Steve gave his ass one last ram, his own body twitching as his cum shot straight inside Bucky. He cried out Bucky’s name in ecstasy. 

“Steve!” Bucky arched his back upwards, mouth hanging open. Hot fluids bursted out, erupting through the tip, some landing all over Steve’s stomach. They stared at each other, panting out their orgasms. Steve watched as cum continued to spew out of Bucky’s throbbing, wet penis. He twitched again, emptying the remains inside him. 

Not taking his eyes off his, he slipped out of Bucky, who closed his eyes, sighing his name. His warm fluids seeped out through Bucky’s slit, wetting the bed. Steve pushed himself downwards, taking his balls into his own mouth, licking him clean. 

Bucky pulled him up to kiss him. “Don’t get me started again, Rogers.”

“Thank you for letting me make love to you.”

“Thank you for being so good at it.” He brought his arms around Steve, flipping him over so that he was on top of him. He bent down, wrapping his lips around Steve’s. 

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

They cradled in each other’s arms. Bucky did not wake up to any nightmares for the rest of the night.


	8. To deserve and to be deserved

“You’re so talented, Steve.” Bucky spooned his neck, staring down at the sketch in Steve’s hand. “This is amazing.”

Turning his around, Steve gave him a peck on his forehead. “That’s because I have an amazing model for it.”

Bucky kissed him. “Can’t really deny that, though.”

Morning took Steve like a rush of cool air on a summer’s day. He had woken up with a start, with his lover still sleeping soundly beside him. He never understood how Bucky managed to look so mesmerising even when he was asleep. There he laid, ecstatically on the sheets, the soft covers draped around the bottom part of his god-like body, with one leg uncovered, an arm placed perfectly horizontal round his side, the other curled underneath his gorgeous face. It was perfect. _He_ was perfect. 

An idea surfaced his mind. It was brilliant — or at least the thought of it was. He rushed to his art studio, seizing his set of pencils, rubbing the tips along a piece of scrap paper to blunt them. He returned to his room with a clean sheet of paper, quietly sliding an armchair so that he’d have the perfect angle. 

It only took him minutes to draft the outlines. He worked on the sketch for the next twenty minutes, highlighting the intricate features. He had opened the curtains to allow some light in the room, yet subtly enough to keep Bucky asleep. Naturally, the light helped put him in an even better ecstatic condition. Steve couldn’t help but stare at the luscious lips on his sketch.

“Steve…?” 

He looked up from the sketch in his hand. Bucky slowly sat up on the bed, blinking sleepily at him, yawning. His eyes fell on the paper and pencil on Steve’s hands. “You drawing something?”

Steve grinned, not saying a word.

“Show me.”

He got off the armchair, climbing onto the bed next to him. Bucky took the piece of paper from his hand, marvelling at the artwork, his eyes widening in awe. “Steve…”

Obviously, Bucky was gloriously naked in the sketch. (Steve still had the decency to keep _some_ parts of him hidden. He’d like to keep them to only himself.) The soft pencil strokes and the fine lines had brought a demigod to life.

“Is this what I really look like when I’m naked and asleep?” Bucky asked him.

“A true artist always conveys the truth.”

“In that case, I see why you’re attracted to me.” 

They kissed, smiling into each others soft lips.

Steve took his hand. “Come with me. Take the sketch with you.”

They climbed off the bed together, both still naked. Steve led him to his art studio. 

“Put it on the desk. I wanna show you something.” 

Bucky did as he was told, as Steve walked over to the supply closet, opening the door and reaching in. He closed the door with a wide and flat wooden box in his hand. 

“What is this?” Bucky peered at the box. Steve laid it on the desk in front of him. 

“Open it.”

He unlatched the lock, lifting the cover, his eyes once again widening, this time not just in awe, but in utter surprise. In it was a neat stack of sketches of no other than Bucky on every single one. With shaking hands, Bucky took the sketches out of the box, spreading them on the table. They began with sketches of a younger Bucky, from approximately fifteen years ago, continuing after that. Every sketch captured something different.

Bucky turned to Steve. “That sketchbook you used to carry around with you… I thought you only used it to draw things that interest you.”

He return a loving gaze. “I did.” Gesturing at the sketches, he said, “They’re all here.” He picked up the latest sketch of nude Bucky, placing it with the others. “And now there’s a new one for the collection.”

“I… I am in awe, Stevie,” Bucky sighed. “I want to say thank you, but I feel like it’s not enough.”

“Thank you’s good enough for me.” 

Bucky turned to kiss him. Steve brought his hands round his sides and pressed him against the edge of the desk. They made out passionately, lips hovering over each other’s, tasting the wonder in their mouths. Steve pressed against him, sliding a leg in between his two. He couldn’t resist, lifted him up and sat him on the desk, pushing the empty box out of the way and the sketches into a messy pile on one side. He leaned over him, pressing him onto the hard wooden surface, devouring him urgently. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky moaned as Steve spooned his neck. 

“You.”

“God, I just can’t stop turning you on, can I?” Bucky mumbled into his lips, returning the kisses desperately.

“You can damn well try,” Steve answered briefly, then stopped to look at him. “But know this, Barnes — you’re fulfilling a dream of mine. You have no idea how much I dreamt to show my sketches to you one day.”

He chuckled. “Was I naked in your fantasies?”

“Every—” he leaned down to tug his nipple with his mouth, making Bucky gasp —“single—” he kissed his collar bone— “time,” ending it with a full kiss on his lips. 

Once he pulled back, Bucky mused, “Okay, now you’re turning _me_ on, Rogers.”

“That’s the point.” Steve gazed down at him.

“Well—” Bucky brought his arms around his neck, giving him a smirk, “are you just gonna stare at me all wet and hungry, or are you gonna fuck me till I come?”

“The latter sounds about right.”

Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve’s body. “You better make me scream, Stevie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You little punk.”

“Jerk.”

Long story short, they had sex on Steve’s desk. Fast and furious, one should say. They couldn’t decide whether the scruffs and bangs made by the poor table were louder or the uncontrollable moans and cries made by the two men were. Yet whichever won the prize, Bucky’s exasperating scream by the end of it when they orgasmed together was evidently the loudest of all. 

As soon as Steve got off him, panting, he seized him by the hand, leading him out of Steve’s studio.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked. 

“Payback time,” Bucky announced. 

“Are you serious?” It came out almost as a whine.

“Come on, Stevie, you gotta keep up with an ex-soldier.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at that.

Bucky took him by the pool on the terrace (it was a large penthouse, evidently), walking towards the open shower next to it, turning it on as water tumbled onto his body. He had to clean up the mess all over himself before a swim. Steve stood close to him, absolutely ravenous. Dropping down, he took his shaft into his mouth, right after licking his balls clean. He swivelled and sucked, tasting Bucky’s cock. 

“Wait… people… are gonna… see… us,” Bucky panted, grabbing fists of Steve’s blonde hair in his palms. 

Let them, Steve thought. He couldn’t care less. All he cared about was Bucky. Bucky with his marvellous cock. 

He came in less than a minute, straight into Steve’s mouth. Steve swallowed every drop, licked him clean. They kissed under broad daylight. Bucky turned the shower off, pulled him into the pool, splashing into the water together. 

Needless to say, things escalated from there. 

Once they got out of the pool, they dried themselves off, then laid on the couch, still bare, side by side, staring into each others eyes. 

“I don’t know if I can keep up, Buck,” Steve murmured, feeling the touch of his skin in his own hands. “I feel crazy for saying this — but we’re having too much sex.”

“Ditto.” He kissed him. “I’d say we should lay things off until tonight.”

“Deal.”

“What about your pool, though? Sorry for ruining it — I’ll help clean it up.”

“Just make sure you do it naked.”

Bucky cocked his head, pouting his lip, enlarging his puppy dog eyes. “How can I be sure you won’t pounce on me?”

“I promise I’ll be good.”

“That’s my boy.” They kissed.

Steve broke away after a couple of seconds to suck in a long breath of air, just in time to realise how much they smelled of chlorine and sex. “I think we should have another shower,” he proposed. “As much as I want to stay here forever.”

“I think we should — shower, I mean,” replied Bucky.

Approximately three minutes later, Steve found himself being pushed up against the wet marble wall of the shower box. So much for waiting until tonight. Why couldn’t he get enough of this man? 

“I’m — so sorry — Steve.” Bucky managed to take in a few short breaths in between kisses. “I want to wait — I really do. It’s just…” His voice trailed off.

“Hey.” Steve cupped his face. “It’s okay. Tell me what you want.”

He stared at him. 

“What do you want, Bucky?”

“I want to be with you, Steve,” he murmured. “I want to wake up to you every single day. I want to let everyone know how much I am in love with you.” His hands tightened round Steve’s hips. “I want to _deserve_ you.”

“But you _do_ deserve me, Buck.”

“Then why don’t I feel that way?” he croaked. “I look at you, and you’re this accomplished man, and then I look at myself…”

“Bucky,” he persisted, “you are a _hero_. I don’t think there’s any accomplishment better than that. I should be the one who don’t deserve you in my life. And if you don’t believe me, let me tell you this: fifteen years ago in that little alley in Brooklyn, you proved me wrong, Buck. All my life, I never really fit in with anyone. I was an outsider — I was bullied. I had no friends. I didn’t know what my purpose in life was. Until you came along and proved that not only it’s okay being different, but most of all, my entire existence matters. And it does. It matters — it matters to me because of you.”

The Brooklyn boy smiled. “Can’t believe you took advice that seriously from a boy who always says he hates himself.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“Because like it or not, I’m just like you. I never knew what I was doing in life. I had no father. My only reason to stay alive was my hopes of joining the army. That day when I first met you, I thought if this guy didn’t know what he was doing, then maybe we could do that together.”

“And that is why we deserve each other, Buck — to remind ourselves every day that life is worth living.”

He snorted. “Wow, Stevie. Way to make a cheesy line sound like the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Anytime.” He brought his metal hand to Steve’s stomach, rubbing it gently. “And speaking of which, can I make these incredible abs of yours mine now?”

“You were the one who stopped at the first place.”

“Shut up.” Bucky pulled him closer. “I’m just trying to make up for all the fun times we could’ve had together — like ten years ago — when we were both complete cowards.”

“Ditto,” he agreed. 

Bucky began kissing him again, this time less urgently but more soft and slowly. He pressed his shaft against his, feeling it harden in seconds by the touch. Steve moaned a loud moan. 

“Steve,” Bucky gasped. “I wanna be inside you.”

It was the raw truth. Steve had only been inside of Bucky once the night before. Other than that, the only kind of sex they’ve had so far was non-penetrative. Briefly wondering what it would be like to have Bucky deep in his asshole, Steve stopped kissing him as he let go, turning around swiftly so that his rear end was firmly pressing onto his hard-on. 

“Come inside me, Bucky.” He put his hands on the marble wall for support, arching his ass. 

“You’re so… _hot_ , Steve,” Bucky growled, seizing his hips. 

Steve immediately felt something prodding along his slit. The intruder penetrated him, centimetre by centimetre until it was fully inside of him, rubbing his insides, sending chills across his body. “Oh, Buck—”

“Steve,” he moaned, steadying himself. “Is this what it feels like to be inside a man?”

Steve quivered. “You never told me this is your first time!”

“Didn’t want you to hold back.”

There was a brief pause. During that silence, a fearful question nailed the back of Steve’s mind. “Bucky…” he said slowly, “were… were you a virgin before me?”

Bucky tensed inside him. Steve wasn’t sure what to expect, until he heard him wheezing behind him. “God — no, Stevie. I’ve had sex before you, as much as I regret not being your first, or letting you be mine.”

“Who was your first?”

“Just some girl I met at a bar a few months after you left.”

Steve hated the fact that they were discussing this, especially under this situation, where he had Bucky all hard and horny inside him. 

“You never really picked up any girls back then.”

“You know I’ve kissed a few, but that was it.”

Steve remembered. The girls were all drunk, and smelled of smoke and alcohol. He never understood the appeal of kissing girls under that condition. Then again, he had never really been into girls anyway.

“I was always curious. Why didn’t you bring any girl home back then, Buck?”

“You _know_ why.” He pulled him off the wall. Steve fell back into his arms. “Just this little thing about having a crush on my best friend. I was in love. No bombshell could ever replace him,” he hummed into his ear. “I couldn’t stand being with anyone else while knowing he was in the other room.”

“And yet you let him stood by you, watching you make out with other girls.”

“I know — I was stupid. I was just trying to fill a void I thought he would never be willing to fill. Do you think he’ll ever forgive me for that?”

Steve stared at the ground, concealing the tears that were already brimming round his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether they were due to sadness or relief. Nonetheless, Bucky caught him, wrapping his arms around his body tighter, gently turning his head round to face him. “No, Steve — don’t cry. I love you. I love you. I love you.” He continued to repeat the three words until he felt that the message fully sinked in. 

“I think he’ll forgive you if you make love to him right this time,” Steve finally whispered. “Make him feel good. Make him know you’re his and he’s yours.”

Bucky’s hands slid across his chest, reaching his nipples to pinch them, making them harden. Steve let out a small sigh, closing his eyes, still facing Bucky. Their noses were only an inch away from one another. Bucky began to move inside him. Their mouths opening and closing to every gentle grind. 

“You feel so good, Steve,” Bucky murmured. 

“That’s it, Buck,” he encouraged him, thrusting himself back to meet his thrusts. 

Steve had definitely been with another man before, but only for a brief time. He understood what Bucky meant by filling a void. He had always had the same void for Bucky. And now, being in his arms, immersed in his sex — as cliché as it sounds, he felt he was flying, reaching for the stars farthest away from their galaxy. 

His own cock was leaking now. Thankfully, Bucky knew exactly what he wanted, seizing his shaft by the hand to jerk him off while he fucked him. 

“Fuck, Steve — I’m going to come,” he panted.

Steve smashed his lips against his, capturing his frantic kiss. They thrusted onto each other harder. Turning round to face the wall so that he was in a more comfortable position, Steve stared down at himself, watching Bucky’s hand sliding smoothly along him. The sensation was mind-blowing. 

Just like that, they came together in less than ten seconds. Bucky circled his penis inside him, spilling his goods all over his insides, calling out his name, again and again. Steve’s cum dripped onto the wet floor. Eventually, Bucky slid out of him. They kissed each other, both supremely wet from both the water spraying from the shower head and their own sweat. 

“I forgive you, Buck,” Steve declared. “Of course I forgive you. I can’t be in love with someone I can’t forgive.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“Me too,” he said. “I’m sorry I never told you about how I felt. I’m sorry I didn’t let you be my first, or let myself be your first.”

“But you _are_ my first, Steve.” He grinned, enhancing his handsome features. “You’re my first love — my only love.”

Steve kissed him, cleaning himself off before leaving Bucky to shower alone. A thought hit his mind. He got dressed (finally), heading to his bedroom. He opened one of the drawers in his desk, reaching in and fishing out an envelope. It was the letter Bucky’s mom had written him years ago. _Read it when the time is right,_ Sarah had said. Somehow he now understood what she meant.

He sat down, tearing it open, revealing the message.

_My dearest Steven,_

_By now, you should have learnt about my affair that had granted me the greatest gift of all — my loving James. What can I say, Steve, I have always been a careless child. Your mother knows that perfectly well. Have I ever regretted my affair? I don’t think so, I dare say. I may not be in love, nor did I know what it truly is to love someone, until I had James. The only other person I’ve ever come close to loving is your mother. She really is a unique and special woman. You may have wondered where James’ last name came from, and assumed it is a maiden name of mine. The truth is, the name Barnes belonged to his father, the highly intelligent George M. Barnes. I have decided to keep it in the hopes that James would one day connect with him and his family. After all, he has his blood. Perhaps that would be of use to him, but doesn't know that yet. You may be wondering at this instant why I am telling you all this. Steve, James loves you, and I know you love him too. You are the only person who is able to help him, quite frankly speaking. You have the connections. Take care of my James for me, Steven._

_Love,_   
_Jane_


	9. M for memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try not to get too confused with this chapter;)

George M. Barnes. _George M. Barnes._ Why did that name sound so familiar? Steve searched through the labyrinth of his mind. He had definitely heard of that name at some point in his life. Yet every other event besides the ones he had had with Bucky had long become a complete blur. 

He read the letter again, searching for clues. _The highly intelligent George M. Barnes._ What did M stand for? Why would Jane think Steve would have the connections to help Bucky reconnect with his father? And more importantly, why would Bucky even _need_ to reconnect with him anyway?

Perhaps he had heard of that name through his mother. But that wouldn’t be possible. Sarah had told him she knew nothing about the identity of Bucky’s father. From his own dad, perhaps? He may have mentioned the name Barnes. Steve remembered the day he learned Bucky’s last name — the moment which stirred a part of his memory. _Barnes. George M. Barnes._ Surprisingly, he found himself picturing that name coming out of his father’s mouth. If his own father had spoken of that name, it only made sense that this man was from Manhattan. That would make Bucky…

Steve sprung from his chair, shoving the letter into his trousers pocket, then discarding the envelope into the waste bin. Out of the corner of his eye, his saw Bucky walking down the flight of stairs, hot and shirtless from the shower, his metal arm glistening. 

“Steve?” his voice echoed across the room. Such a sweet, vivid voice, too. 

“I have to go.” Steve grabbed his jacket. 

“To where?” He came closer to him, blinking his large puppy dog blue eyes.

“My old house. My mom called, asking to see me.” He bit his lip. That was half true. 

“Okay.” Bucky sounded uncertain and there was a tad bit of scepticism in his expression. “Say hi to Sarah for me.”

Steve nodded, leaning in to kiss him. Bucky brought an arm round his waist to pull him into his own mouth, tasting the stars. 

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Steve said after they pulled apart. 

“I’ll be waiting.” Bucky smirked, slowly rubbing his waist. Steve couldn’t begin to imagine what his baby had in store for him upon his return. 

“Try not to miss me too much.” He cocked his head to one side. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, letting him go and pushing him playfully. “Just go.”

“Ok. Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too. Now get out of here, you punk.”

Steve watched as the elevator doors closed in, not taking his eyes off of him until he disappeared completely from his sight. Bucky did not seem too sceptical, to say the least. He just hoped he would be able to find the right answers in the right place. 

Normally, he would grab a cab. Yet as soon as he emerged from his building, the traffic was in a fit of chaos. There was no time to lose. His only other option was to walk. His last gym session did not exactly put him in the best condition (courtesy to his divided attention for Bucky). Nevertheless, he ran. He had been so used to taking a cab he had almost forgotten what it was like to live in Manhattan, the busy city he had grown up in. Then again, Brooklyn was where he was raised. 

Two streets and eight blocks later, he made it to his old building. 

“Steve.” His mother was sitting at her usual spot on the couch, reading a book when he walked into the living room in a huff. 

“George M. Barnes,” he stated, cutting right to the chase. “Does that ring any bells to you?”

Sarah put down the book she was reading. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Steven.”

“Just answer the goddamn question,” he spat.

She narrowed her eyes. “Your father may have mentioned a name as such at one point—”

“So you lied.”

“About what?”

“About not knowing who Bucky’s father is. But you knew, didn’t you? You knew as soon as you learnt Bucky’s name.”

“Steven, I can’t imagine why you would accuse me of this.”

He reached into his pocket, fished out Jane’s letter and threw it onto the table. Sarah stared at the piece of unfolded paper. 

“Does _this_ help you imagine?”

Sarah took the letter with shaking hands, her eyes scanning the writing. After a brief minute, she looked up at her son, her face as blank as a sheet.

“Bucky’s real name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve continued. “There was no way you could’ve not known about his real father.”

“Steve, I have never met this George Barnes in my life.”

“Yes, you have.” Steve shook his head in disbelief. “Eighteen years ago — Christmas — I was ten. Dad hosted one of his annual dinner parties. He was here with his family. I remember because his son was the most arrogant boy I’ve ever met, who was around my age.”

“That was so long ago,” Sarah sighed. “Your father hosted a party every year. You can’t expect me to remember every single person I’ve met through one of his parties.”

“But I _do_ expect you to remember _him_ ,” Steve persisted. He pointed at the name on the letter. “M stood for Morris — as in Morris corporations, the same company Dad’s company signed to work with for years. The same company that’s probably responsible for all his debts, problems and his alleged abuse to alcoholism and aggressive nature.” He paused, eyeing Sarah like a hawk.

Sarah stared at him, contributing to the silence. After a few moments, she finally spoke. “Your father had always been wrong about you, Steve. He may have been a bright man, but nowhere near as bright as you are. I’ve often thought the stupidest thing he had ever done was never seizing the chance to acknowledge his own son’s intelligence.”

“You not only know George Barnes,” Steve continued, ignoring her comments, “but you knew him personally, and you despised him.”

Sarah’s eyes diverted to another direction. “Despised him?” she echoed. “I wanted him dead.”

“Why?”

“Because he was responsible for your father’s death!” she exploded. 

Steve couldn’t say anything. He quivered at her words. 

“My only purpose is to protect my son,” she quipped. “Please, Steve. Don’t make me fail at the one thing I could do.”

“You could’ve started by telling me the truth,” he bawled. “The _entire_ truth.”

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t have,” she returned. “When your father came home one night, soaked in alcohol, telling me about Barnes’ affair, I knew something was bound to happen.”

“My father died of pneumonia.”

“You told me to tell you the truth,” said Sarah. “Your father was _murdered_ , Steven. For finding out about an affair _that man_ had with _my best friend_. I don’t know how he found out, but I swore to myself that I would do anything in my power to not let _you_ come in contact with any information.”

Steve refused to believe what his mother was telling him. “I _saw_ him on his death bed.”

“What you saw was not what you knew,” she responded. “If I had told you the truth earlier, it could’ve been you on that bed. For the love of the God, Steven, stop making this harder than it already is.”

“You’re telling me George Barnes had gone as far as _killing_ my father for finding out about his affair with Bucky’s mom?”

“I can’t think of any better reason. Barnes had a reputation.”

“How did he even manage to have him killed? And why wasn’t he prosecuted?”

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. There was no evidence against him.”

“So much for fulfilling Jane’s wish of having Bucky reconnect with him. How am I supposed to tell Buck his father was a murderer?”

Sarah tensed. “Forget that, Steven. Jane never really knew her son’s father. Besides, there is no point in trying to find him, because he died four months ago.”

Steve frowned. “I came back three months ago,” he pointed out. “That leaves no one to have me killed in knowing the truth. And yet you lied anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I remember meeting Barnes’ wife. An obscene woman, she was. As much as I never approved of his affair, I could understand why he had it.”

Steve remained silent, unsure where she was going with her statement.

“I went to Barnes’ funeral — not to pay my respects, of course. Funny how that woman just assumed I knew about his affair. It was even funnier how she thought _I_ was the mistress.” She paused to laugh at the irony, half-heartedly. “I owed her nothing, but I assured her you weren’t the child. I knew I had to protect Jane. Before I left, she said to me, ‘If you let anyone know about your bastard child, I’ll have you strangled in your sleep.’”

“Sounds like she’s as horrible as her son is.”

Sarah nodded. “But I can understand where she’s coming from. Her dignity is the only thing that keeps her alive, and there is no doubt she will go to extreme lengths to protect her pride. Reminds me of why I left this place to somewhere as far away as possible. 

“My point is, Steven, you can’t let anyone know about your knowledge on the affair. At least until that woman is on her death bed.”

“But you could’ve taken me to Brooklyn instead,” Steve said. “We could’ve lived there, without having me leave Bucky all these years.” He throat throbbed with pain. “I could’ve stopped him from going to war and becoming the person he is now. _I could’ve prevented his pain._ ”

“Please forgive me, Steven,” she whispered. “I was only doing what I thought was best for you.”

“You took me away from my best friend.” He shook his head. “I loved him. I was in love with him and you took me away from him. I don’t think I can ever forgive you for doing that.”

“I knew you loved him, but I didn’t know you were in love with him,” she said quietly.

“Well — now you do.” He fought back the tears that were already congregating in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she pleaded. 

“Me too,” he said. “I’m sorry I ever thought for a second I could trust you.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do you even know what Bucky went through?” he bellowed.

“Of course I did,” she defended. “I helped him recover from his trauma.”

“Except you _didn’t_ ,” he said through gritted teeth. “And besides — you only did it for Jane because you weren’t there for her when she died, and you felt guilty about it. You never even stopped to consider how much Bucky actually meant to me. And why would you? He was there for me when both my parents weren’t.” He paused, wiping away a tear with a finger. “You’re right about one thing, though. About this place — it consumes you, turns you into someone you’re not — someone you weren't meant to be. You shouldn’t have left Brooklyn at the first place, just as how I shouldn’t have left New York. You shouldn’t have married Dad and started a family that wasn’t meant to be. You should’ve stayed where you were and stopped Jane from having an affair. You should’ve _been there for her._ That way, I wouldn’t have been born, and Bucky wouldn’t have been born — and I won’t have to stand here in front of you right now watching you regret every mistake you’ve ever made.”

It was a plain truth Steve had not been able to contemplate, let alone say. Yet as everything seemed to pile up, it all simply bursted out without any means of filter. He was hurt, and he had been hurt for a long time — ten years to be exact, and it all seemed to link back to his family. 

Sarah stared at him, tears consuming her eyes, unable to say a word. 

“Have you forgotten where you came from?” Steve asked finally.

Just as Sarah was about to respond, Steve’s phone rang. It had to be Bucky calling him. How long had he spent here? Bucky must be worried sick, considering Steve left in such short notice.

Steve swiped his phone without looking, putting it to his ear. 

“Hello?” he said into the speaker.

There was a muffle on the other end, but eventually a voice came on. 

“Steve?” It was the voice of a woman.

Steve blinked, adjusting his phone to a better position. “Natasha?”

“Hey — yea, it’s me,” she said. “Are you occupied at the moment?”

“Me? No, not at all. What’s up?” He had to get out of there as fast as possible.

There was a brief silence. Another muffle.

“We found him, Steve,” she told him. “We found the guy.”


	10. The unwanted son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter is relatively longer than most of my other ones, but try to read till the end - you won't regret it;)

Before Steve could respond, Natasha had already hung up. He stared down at his phone, a weird feeling creeping through his mind. He should be having millions of questions now, yet for some reason, he couldn’t think of any. 

“I have to go,” he told Sarah, slipping his phone back into his pocket. 

“Be careful, Steve,” she said quietly. 

“I’m not the one who needs to be.”

He left the house, with no intention of seeing his mother or hearing her voice anytime soon, whatsoever. Catching her in a handful of lies was one thing — another was her presence being a constant reminder of how he had failed his best friend — his boyfriend. _Boyfriend._ It sounded foreign in his head. Should he consider Bucky as his boyfriend now? What else could he call him? His lover, maybe?

Steve sighed. They’ve told each other how much they were in love with one another many times enough, yet a part of Steve still worry whether Bucky truly knew how much he meant to Steve, and how much he deserved to be loved. 

When he came back to New York to find Bucky in a heap of shattered pieces, all Steve could think of and focus on was to put them back together again. He just hoped each piece was in its right place. 

Another sad thing was, through picking up Bucky’s pieces and assembling them back together, Steve had somehow found himself slowly breaking apart in the process. Not that he mind doing this for Bucky — he would do _anything_ for Bucky, but he realised how much he had grown a part from his mother. She had always been his leaning rock, shielding every thunder, rain and lightning caused by his father. 

The saddest thing of all, he had decided, was that he wouldn’t be able to look at her the same way again. 

Natasha and Sam had been waiting at the police headquarters. They had phone Steve’s home earlier on, in which Bucky picked up and was told to go there as well. Sure enough, Bucky sat waiting for Steve along with the FBI agents as soon as he walked in. 

Bucky stood up at the sight of him, just in time to open his arms to capture Steve into an embrace. “They won’t tell me anything until you’re here.”

“You ready?” Steve asked him. 

He nodded, leaning in to press his forehead onto his, their lips brushing against each other’s. 

A sound of throat-clearing came from the left. They both turned to Natasha and Sam, who were eyeing them with subtle smirks on their faces. Were they _that_ obvious? They had agreed on keeping their affections low-key out in public. Oh, well. The not-too-subtle lip-brushing might have given them away.

“Okay,” Steve said finally. “Tell us everything you’ve found, guys.”

The two agents exchanged a small glance. Sam gave a nod at Natasha. 

“Bucky,” Natasha began, “we know you had a mother who went by the name Jane Catherine.”

He nodded in response. 

“Since you weren’t able to give us your father’s name, we had to trace down your bloodline.”

Steve swallowed at those words, crossing his arms tighter on his chest in apprehension. 

“What’s his name?” Bucky asked. 

“His name is George Morris Barnes,” she replied, opening a paper file and handing it to him. “Or — _was_. He passed away four months ago. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

He took the file from her, staring at the picture of his late father. 

Steve ran a hand down Bucky’s back. “You okay?”

“M’fine.” He shrugged, handing the file back to Natasha. “I never knew him.”

“Well, then, this should get interesting,” she said. “Your father ran a large corporate company in Manhattan called Morris corporations.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Why not call it Barnes?”

“Well, since Morris was his mother’s name, my guess is that he chose to use that instead of his father’s.

“Anyway, he had another family — which means he had two other children.”

Steve frowned. _Two?_

“His youngest child is a daughter called Rebecca Marie Barnes. His first legitimate son, who was born a year after Bucky, is called Caleb Morris Barnes.”

She looked up at Bucky, swallowing. “That’s him — he’s the one who’s trying to kill you.”

That was when it hit Steve. It all made sense. Or, at least part of it did.

Bucky looked at her, dumbfounded. “Are you sure it’s him? But _why_? I’ve never even met my own father, let alone _him_. Is this guy batshit crazy or something?”

“Hold on — I’m not finished,” she replied pointedly. “After your father died, his will was quickly revealed. And it turns out he had left an entire half of his inheritance to his ‘first born child’.”

“So he left a whole bunch of dough for his first son. How is this relevant to the fact that he’s trying to _kill me_?”

It was Sam’s turn to frown. “Bucky,” he said. “Did you hear what Nat said? _’First born child’_ — meaning _you_.”

Bucky remained silent. He looked at the both of them apprehensively. 

“Given that the legitimacy of the child was not stated in the dowry,” Natasha continued, “ _you’re_ the first born child. The money belongs to you.”

He breathed. “But — but that’s not possible.”

“We don’t know whether your father made this arrangement on purpose, or whether it was an accident,” Sam added. “But under the eyes of the law, you have every right to declare that money.”

“So back to Caleb,” Natasha said. “Three months ago, he hired someone to track you down and have you killed so that the money would go directly to him and his sister.”

Bucky gave Steve a look. Steve brought a hand onto his shoulder, giving it a gently clench. 

“Is he being prosecuted?” Steve asked them. 

Natasha nodded. “We’re using the person he hired to speak for our side.”

“Does that mean I have to be in court and see him… my half-brother, I mean?” Bucky asked. 

“Unfortunately, yet — but that’s why you’re here… we thought you’d like to prepare yourself before the time comes.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged an apprehensive look. 

“He’s here, Bucky,” Sam said. “We brought him here. He’s in the other room.”

At that point, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As dramatically as a scene as such from every movie. Steve followed Bucky, who followed Natasha and Sam to the interrogation room, his heart a heavy load. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Bucky was feeling right that moment. 

The first thing Steve noticed was that the room was dimly-lit. Then he saw a man in a suit sitting at one and of the table, his hands cuffed to it, his head bowing down. He didn’t even bother to look up when they piled into the room. His heart pounded. That was him — the boy he had met at a crappy Christmas party at his house eighteen years ago who turned out to be Bucky’s half-brother. He shuddered to think this person was actually related to someone as sweet as Bucky.

Sam hammered the table with a fist. The man looked up, the dim light reflecting his face. Steve’s mouth fell open automatically. That son of a bitch looked so much like Bucky. One could argue that they were almost identical. The resemblance was so uncanny it made him shiver. Yet Bucky was still the most good-looking to him, needless to say. 

The man seemed to be half-awake at this point. He looked up at Bucky, who stared right back him, not saying a word. 

He snorted. “So _you’re_ James?” he began. “Wow, our father really _was_ insane, leaving half of his money to someone like _you_.”

Steve felt his own fists clench. Bucky made no reply.

“I never understood why our father never brought you up,” he continued, eyes digging at Bucky like daggers. “You clearly meant more to him than my mother, my sister or myself ever did. I remember when my mother found out about his mistress and you.” His laugh sent a shiver to Steve’s spine. He was every bit as arrogant and disturbing as Steve remembered. “She vowed to have her throat slit and you strangled in your sleep. Now wouldn’t that be nice?”

“You fucking asshole.” Those words escaped from Steve’s mouth before he could stop himself. 

He turned towards Steve’s attention, acknowledging his presence. “Steven Rogers,” he greeted. “Last time I saw you, you were still a little runt. Look how much you’ve grown. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were gonna grow up to be a fag.”

Steve’s eyes widen. He could literally _murder_ the man right this second. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam slapped him on the head. 

He kept on talking. “That’s what you get — mixing our blood with those of Brooklyn. Isn’t _your_ mom from Brooklyn, Steve? That explains a lot about you.”

“I’m sorry.” It was the first time Bucky had spoken upon their meeting. 

He looked at him, eyes narrowing. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse and deep, but the message was clear. “For the way our father treated you and the rest of your family. I’m sorry he lied to you and gave away half his money to someone like me.

“But most of all, I’m sorry for the fact that you’re not able to see how lucky you are.”

Caleb glared at him, making no reply. 

“I don’t know exactly how much I meant to our father,” Bucky went on. “I’ve never met, seen or even heard of him until today. But let me tell you this—” he leaned forward, meeting his glare “— he means _nothing_ to me. _You_ mean nothing to me. Your mother means nothing to me. _You entire family means nothing to me._ So if you think for a second that I care about you and your petty rich boy problems — I don’t. All I can think about is how much of an idiot you are to say that our father cared about me more than he did for you and your family, because if he did, I wouldn’t be standing here with only one arm and you wouldn’t feel the need to point a gun at my face to prove that you’re worth something to him. 

“You want his money? You can have it. I don’t need his help to survive. I didn’t need it when I could hardly afford water, I didn’t need it when my mom got cancer, and I damn well don’t need it now.”

“You’re right,” said Caleb. “My father never cared about you. Why would he? You’re just a Brooklyn boy who will never fit into Manhattan.”

Bucky smiled. “It must kill you to watch your Manhattan money go into the hands of a Brooklyn boy, doesn’t it? If it doesn’t, I hope prison does. It was nice meeting you, my dear brother. Sleep well.”

With that, he walked out of the door, leaving the man flushed with anger and Steve proud as ever. That moment, he felt as if he was witnessing Bucky as the Sergeant Barnes he had heard of a handful of times. To see him like this, taking charge, was incredible. He had never been more turned on in his life.

“I wanna fuck you so bad right now,” Steve blurted out as soon as they were out of the room and safely out of earshot. Thankfully, Natasha and Sam were still in there taking care of unfinished business. 

“I’m honestly so done — wait _what?_ ” Bucky frowned at him lightly. He leaned closer to Steve. “What did you just say?”

“I want to fuck you so bad right this moment,” Steve repeated. He felt himself blush slightly. 

Bucky gave him a genuine smile, seizing Steve by the waist to pull him an inch closer. “I love it when you say things like that. Can’t handle me being all Sergeant Barnes, huh?”

Steve returned the smile, nodding vigorously. “Can’t handle how horny I am for you now.”

Bucky took a glimpse at the other room. “Sorry, babe,” he said. “I don’t think Natasha and Sam will approve of any promiscuous behaviour.”

“Shame, I would’ve loved to do Sergeant Barnes right on this floor.”

Bucky chuckled. Then his face returned to being serious. “Did you know about any of this?”

“Any of what?”

“Of my father — my brother and his family.”

Steve nodded reluctantly. “Your mother wrote me a letter, mentioning your father’s name. I got confused so I went to see my mom.”

“Is that why you left all of a sudden just now?”

“Yea. I’m sorry, Buck. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you what I’ve learnt. Things didn’t exactly end well between me and my mom either.”

He told him about his conversation with Sarah. “She just kept on lying to me. I don’t know if I can ever trust her again.”

“Look.” Bucky sighed. “I know I have my doubts on her honesty myself. But she’s your _mother_ , Steve. You know what I’d give to have _my_ mom back for just a day?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying go back to her and try to sort things out with her. You’ll live through it — I promise.”

Steve sighed. “Fine.”

They said their goodbyes and thanks to Natasha and Sam before leaving the building. 

“Have you considered joining our team?” Natasha asked Bucky once again.

He shook his head. “Sorry, Nat. I’m done with that life.”

It took them a whole half hour to return to Steve’s old house. Yet as soon as they arrived, Sarah was nowhere to be found. 

Bucky spotted a note on the table. He picked it up and read it aloud. 

_Dear Steve,_

_I’m leaving New York for a while. I can’t begin to say how sorry I am for not being honest with you and putting you through all the trouble. I wish all my love to you and Bucky. If you ever find that place in your heart to forgive me, I will be forever grateful._

_Love,_  
_Mom_

Steve swallowed. He fished out his phone to call his mother. It jumped straight to voicemail. He was too late. 

Bucky place his hand on his shoulder as a consolation. “Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. It’s not like she’s gone forever, right?”

Steve nodded briefly, looking into his eyes. “Have you been in here before?”

He shook his head. “No.” Looking around, he said, “but it looks really nice, Stevie.”

“Back then, it wasn’t. It was a gloomy old house. It still is, actually.”

Bucky rested his chin on his shoulder. “Can you show me your room?”

“Oh, shit, Buck — of course.” 

Steve led him to another side of the penthouse, switching the light on. His old bed laid at the centre of the room. Pictures of soft landscapes hung neatly on the walls, where bookshelves stood against them, lined with rows and rows of books. 

“Did you paint all these pictures?” Bucky asked, observing the paintings.

“Some.” He pointed to a few.

“They’re so gorgeous, Stevie.”

Watching Bucky admire his paintings was something Steve never thought he’d live to witness.

“Steve,” Bucky said whilst he was still immersed in his own thoughts. Bucky placed a hand on the duvet covering the sheet on the bed. “So this was where you slept as a kid.”

He nodded, watching Bucky slowly sit on his old bed, feeling the soft fabric underneath his palm. That did it for him. Steve pushed his feet off the ground, falling straight onto Bucky with a plop, kissing him frantically. 

Bucky kissed him back with the same urgent need. They kicked off their shoes, moving up the bed into a better position. Steve on top and Bucky bottom. They rolled around the bed, making out. The way they intertwined was perfect. Then came the removal of clothing. Steve stripped Bucky from head to toe, Bucky doing the same for him, feeling their bodies, skin-on-skin. The sensation and pleasure was enough for Steve to orgasm. 

They released each other’s mouths for a second to stare at one another’s naked selves.

“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamt of the two of us together on this bed,” Steve managed to say.

Bucky’s eyes brightened, igniting a spark in his pupils. “Really?” he purred, pulling Steve closer to him. “What were we doing on this bed?”

“You stripped me naked like you did just now.”

He grinned slyly. “That’s one check off the list. What else?”

“I begged you to fuck me.”

Bucky seized him, flipping him round so that Steve was now underneath him. “So desperate and horny for me,” he teased. “Well, what are you waiting for? Aren’t you gonna beg me?”

“Please, baby — fuck me,” Steve groaned. 

“Mmm… you don’t sound _that_ eager to me.”

By now, Steve was already breathing heavily. He had never been more desperate to be made love to. Arching his body up to meet Bucky’s, his adrenaline rushing at the speed of light, he let out a short cry. Bucky’s pupils dilated to the touch of his hard-on on his own, licking his lips at the sight of this beautiful angel underneath him. 

“Bucky…” Steve moaned. “I need you inside me so bad. I want to make you feel good.”

“That’s better.” Bucky dropped himself lower, tasting Steve’s lips, putting his tongue into his mouth. “Such a dirty kid you were, Stevie. Bet you were jerking off under these covers thinking about me, weren’t you?”

“Weren’t _you_?”

He chuckled between his lips. “Guilty is charged — a handful of times when we were under the same roof.”

Steve couldn’t imagine Bucky tugging himself, picturing Steve in his mind and moaning his name with Steve within ten metres’ reach. “That’s so hot, baby. What were you thinking?”

Bucky had wasted no time rocking his hips, his eyes still glued to Steve’s. Steve bit his lip. The pleasure was so fulfilling he wanted to scream right that second, but he knew some restraint was needed. Besides, he intended to save the screaming for later. 

“I was thinking about making you mine,” he breathed. “Making you come for me with that pretty cock of yours.”

Steve sighed as he stopped grinding against him, dropping lower so that he was fully facing Steve’s cock, which was now so hard it stood upright completely, pre-cum leaking through the tip. Bucky grabbed him, squeezing hard, his eyes full of hunger. “So gorgeous,” he murmured. “And it’s all mine.”

“All yours, baby,” Steve moaned. 

Bucky leaned forward, licking the tip while keeping his eyes glued to Steve’s face. Steve throbbed. It was so goddamn erotic. He released him after a few sensual swivels with his tongue. “Keep your eyes on me, baby,” he demanded. “Watch me while I suck you off.”

Before Steve could say anything else, he had gone straight in, his head bobbing up and down. It was the most stunning scene, with Bucky’s mouth on his cock. It was turning him on even more than before. Yet he didn’t want to come like this — he wanted to come with Bucky inside him. 

“Buck — I don’t want to come like this,” he managed to choke out the words. 

He stopped sucking him, looking up. Steve’s cock was now shiny and smooth with his spit. Bucky’s lips were red and wet. He knelt upright, his cock on full display in front of Steve, as hard and wet from his pre-cum as his. Steve still couldn’t bring himself to believe it was _he himself_ that was making Bucky react this way. He couldn’t wait any longer. He was about to burst. 

“Do it — Buck, put it in me now.”

Bucky separated his ass cheeks gently, inserting two fingers into his hole. This time, Steve cried out loud. 

“Steady yourself, Stevie,” he purred. “I gotta prepare you first, don’t I?”

He pushed himself further down, releasing his fingers, replacing them with his tongue, licking his hole hungrily. “You taste so amazing,” he mumbled between licks. “So wet for me.”

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky — just _fuck me!_ ” Steve yelled, throwing his head farther onto the pillow, slamming his eyes shut. Tears streamed down his face. 

Bucky pushed himself up, placing a hand on his chest, as if he was taming his prey. “Look at me, Steve,” he said. Steve opened his eyes, glaring at him. Bucky wiped away his tears with his thumb. “Good. Now stay still. Don’t take those eyes off me.”

And with that, he plunged into him. It was so swift, so smooth. Steve’s mouth fell open, letting a soft cry escape his lips. His own cock throbbed with pleasure. Bucky was inside him, big and hard, filling his insides. Without saying another word, he rocked his hips, thrusting slowly. Steve pushed his head against the pillow, arching his back as Bucky brought himself onto his chest, his lips on his neck, planting soft kisses. He traced his lips downwards, wrapping them round his nipple, licking and tugging it with his teeth. 

Steve let out another cry. It was only now when he was beginning to realise he was having sex with Bucky on his childhood bed. It was like a dream.

“Oh, Bucky — fuck me harder.”

Bucky did as he was told, ramming into him like there was no tomorrow. Steve rocked his own hips to every one of his thrusts. 

“Steve…” Bucky gasped. “That’s it — come for me, baby.”

The feeling of having this man sliding in and out of him was beyond mind-blowing. Bucky was a Greek god, and he worshipped the ground he walked on. The two of them, becoming one — it was almost sacred. 

“Fuck… I’m gonna come, Steve,” he panted. “You want me to pull out?”

“Don’t you _dare_.” Steve was border-line screaming now. “I’m not letting you go until you fill me up with your cum.”

Bucky managed to give him a smile. “So hungry and desperate for me, aren’t you, Stevie? You know how sexy and hot you look right now? Oh… baby…” He rode him hard and quick, slamming his balls against his rear. 

Steve’s legs tensed around his body, his thighs squeezing his hips, feet digging deeper onto his ass cheeks for support in every thrust. Bucky rolled their hips together, his pelvis and abdominal muscles flexing, sexy as hell. 

Sure enough, Bucky came first, his hot fluids flooding Steve’s insides as he did. He cried out loud, opening his mouth in a perfect O shape, slamming his eyes shut and throwing his head back towards the ceiling. His penis throbbed inside him. As the fluids slowly seeped out of Steve, Bucky began ramming inside him again. Oh, right — Steve hadn’t come yet. 

Steve’s dick was swollen with stimulation. Bucky’s drive was exactly what he needed. Perhaps he just needed a little more… He reached down with one hand, wrapping it around his shaft, stroking and pumping, feeling the blood rushing down to the tip, which was already leaking furiously. 

Bucky seemed to love what he was observing. “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice dropping low and deep with lust. Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing from what came out of his mouth in the next fifteen seconds. “Show me how dirty you can be. Come on — think about last night when you were inside me, fucking my brains out. Think about me riding that big cock of yours, jerking myself off on you. Think about all those times when we could’ve been fucking each other and we didn’t. Look at how wet you are, Stevie — look at how much you’re dripping for me. Go on — spray your cum all over me. Make yourself feel good by making me as dirty as you are. I’m all yours to take, baby. Oh — fuck, you’re making me come again.”

Before Steve could even begin to wonder where his best friend had learnt to say things like _that_ , he felt as if his own mind had snapped. Giving his hand one last bang, he orgasmed all over himself and Bucky’s stomach, just as he had been told to. “Bucky!” he screamed at a volume he never knew he could reach. As Steve’s eyes rolled to the back of his head in ecstasy, Bucky exploded inside him once again. 

For a moment of what felt like eternity, they stared at each other, panting, their bodies slick with sweat. Perfect didn’t begin to describe the state they were in. Bucky collapsed on top of Steve’s chest, still inside him, yet his cock softening now. “Thank you,” Steve heard him whisper.

“Thank _you_ ,” Steve returned. He pulled him up, fitting his mouth on his. Then asked, “Where did you learn to talk like that, Buck? That was incredible.”

“Dunno,” he murmured, gazing down at him. “I guess seeing you fucking yourself for me turned me on so much, I just couldn’t stop myself.”

“Well, you fucking inside me kinda helped too,” Steve pointed out. 

“Fair point,” he giggled, laying his head on the pillow right next to his face. “We should really come back here often. I like the idea of having sex with you on your childhood bed just to make up for all the times you wished I were in bed with you.”

“There’s a lot to make up for, not gonna lie.”

“Bring it on,” Bucky challenged him. 

“Hey, Buck?”

“Mmm?”

“You planning on coming out of me anytime soon?”

“Oh — shit, Steve. Sorry.” He began to slip out of him. 

“No, wait.” Steve grabbed him round the neck, bringing him down again. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna yet. You can stay inside me for as long as you want to.”

A sparkle filled each of his eyes. “ _Can_ I? You feel so good, Steve — I never wanna come out of you.” 

He chuckled. “You can if you behave.”

“Yes, sir.” He laid his head back down next to him, tickling his neck with his nose. 

“Bucky,” Steve said. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“Course I do,” came a mumble. 

Steve turned his head round so that he was fully facing him, drinking in the intimacy as much as he was with Bucky’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Okay, but I want you to believe that I will never leave you ever again. I’ve lost you once — I’m not losing you twice. I’m so in love with you, Bucky… so in love… crazy in love. Do you understand?”

“God, Steve — how much do I have to tell you to make you believe _me_?” said Bucky. “If you love me half as much as I love you, then you can stop convincing me. I am hopelessly in love with you, Steve Rogers. I’m in love with the little kid who got beaten up in an alley fifteen years ago. I’m in love with the boy who was too stupid and brave not to walk out of a fight.” He leaned in so that their noses touched. “I’m in love with the guy who taught me that even if I won’t love myself, someone else will. I’m in love with the man who made me believe that love is real.”

Just as Steve was about to lean in further to kiss him, he said, “Cheesy enough for you, Rogers?”

He snorted. “Cheesy enough, Barnes.” And fit his mouth onto his. 

“But with that being said,” Bucky mumbled, “I’d like to hear you remind me from time to time.”

“I love you, Bucky.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.” Three words, eight letters, but meant an infinity. He could say them to Bucky over and over again, as much as he wanted.

“I love you too, Steve.”


	11. A sketch of life

The exhibition hall was swarmed with people in formal attire, the walls echoing the hushed tones of voices within various conversations. Steve wouldn’t exactly pin-point this as any fancy event, yet with everyone around him all dressed up, caterers passing around champagne worth thousands of dollars and people of importance showing up at every corner of the hall, he was beginning to change his mind. 

He casually glanced over to his boyfriend, who was focusing on a piece of artwork hung on one of the walls. _Boyfriend._ A term that rolls off the tongue even more nicely than _best friend_. He smiled at himself. Among the many good-looking male and female here, it was proven that his _boyfriend_ was able to outshine them all. There wasn’t a single person in the hall who, upon encountering him, did not stop for at least two seconds to mesmerise his attractive features. 

Bucky was jaw-dropping, one wouldn’t hesitate to say. So beautiful that even some of the women were jealous. Steve had his own fair share of admirers, but he couldn’t help but feel a little envious of his good looks. Not that he mind, of course — he was too proud of him. 

There Bucky stood, in an expensive black suit and tie. Though he had taken the initiative to shave his stubble and cut his hair, underneath the immaculacy there was still a hint of roughness that made him look so unbelievably sexy it was enough to make any man or woman swoon at the sight of him. Steve felt that this look seemed all too familiar. The black suit which brought out the blue in his eyes (to be fair, _literally anything_ could bring out the blue in his eyes), the short hair and clean-shaven face reminded Steve of the old Bucky — the Bucky he had grown to know and love. For a moment, he was back in Brooklyn, with him by his side, gazing out into the foreign world together. 

Ironically, Steve was supposed to be the star of the show today. His artwork had once again gained so much recognition that the studio had decided to display his entire collection in an exhibition hall in Manhattan. What was even more ironic was the fact that Steve would gladly agree that Bucky was an even bigger star than he was at this event. 

Or perhaps it was the colossal sketch Steve had drawn of Bucky, completing the whole collection, that was granting him so much attention. Just round the corner from where they were standing, a massive group of people congregated around a single piece of artwork hung on the wall. There, displayed on a thick sheet of paper, securely protected with glass, were charcoal strokes and lines forming the ecstatic physique of Bucky lying horizontally on a couch, completely and utterly nude. No covering or blurring whatsoever. Just him, fresh and stark naked, looking like a god. 

Steve walked over, taking a closer look at his masterpiece. It was even bigger than he envisioned it to be on display (no pun-intended there). Briefly, he heard the muffled admirations and praises from the crowd in front of him. Some were on the way it was drawn, some on the features of his face, his eyes, lips, cheekbones, his long hair that draped onto his broad shoulders, his hips, v-line, thighs, muscles…

He laughed inwardly. The one thing he enjoyed drawing the most naturally did not made it to that list. It was so obvious that the feature was purposefully left out to avoid any awkwardness. Yet it was all Steve could look at and think about. As he stared intently into the sketch, his mind spiralled off to the day it was created — less than two weeks ago. 

…

“So when’s the show again?”

“It’s not a show — it’s an exhibition.” Steve took a sip of his bottled beer. “And it’s in less than two weeks.”

They had just finished watching an episode of BBC Sherlock, and his mind was going in all directions. Good thing he had Bucky by his side in bed — it didn’t seem like the chills were going away any time soon. Weirdly enough, Sherlock’s ‘resurrection’ creeped him out. Thankfully, the chemistry between him and John toned that down slightly. 

And speaking of nightmares, Steve had hired a psychiatrist to see Bucky now and then. At first, Bucky needed Steve beside him to get through each session. Gradually, he became a lot more at ease alone talking about his problems to a stranger. 

“So are you coming?” Steve asked, taking another swig of his beer, emptying the bottle. “I’ve already asked Sam and Nat, and they said yes.”

Steve and Bucky had been friends with the two for over six months now. It was surprising how easy it was establishing a friendship with two FBI agents. Outside their career, Natasha and Sam were actually really interesting people, and they were fun to hang out with. They were also dating, not much to their dismay. They made quite a quirky but cute couple. 

“What do you _mean_ am I coming? Of course I’m coming. My baby’s getting his own art exhibit — you think I’m gonna miss it for the world?” He took Steve’s beer from him, setting it on the counter. 

“You have to dress up, though.”

“Now _that_ should be negotiable.” Bucky had never been a big fan of dressing up. 

Steve chuckled. “Just dress smart — wear a suit or something.”

“The most formal piece of clothing I own is probably my old military uniform.”

“Might be a bit too Nazi.” Steve wrinkled his nose playfully at him. “We don’t want people asking too many questions about my boyfriend’s identity, now, do we?”

Bucky leaned over the counter on one side as Steve leaned in on the other. “You’re asking your boyfriend not to wear a t-shirt and jeans for once, and instead put himself in an awkwardly uncomfortable suit. That’s a lot to ask for.”

“Oh, come on,” he pleaded. “It’s a suit — not a trash bag. How bad can it be? I bet you’ll look handsome in one. We’ll go suit shopping for you tomorrow. I promise it won’t be uncomfortable. How’s that?”

He rolled his eyes, pretending to act reluctant. “Okay — _fine_ ,” he said. “Besides — considering the amount my father left me — I have quite a few to spare. And Sam better not look better than I do.”

Steve grinned a toothy grin. “I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous. Thanks, Buck.”

“Only for you, Stevie.” He leaned closer to him on the counter. “Now give me some sugar, you punk.”

Steve took him by the mouth, licking his lower lip playfully. They immersed themselves on each other’s lips. After about ten seconds of making out, Steve pulled away. “There’s something else I wanna ask you.”

Bucky sighed heavily. “What is it now, Steve?”

“My collection… it’s not quite finished yet.”

He stared at him, waiting for a follow-up. 

“I planned on doing a sketch for my last piece,” Steve continued, “and I was hoping you could be my model…?”

Another heavy sigh. Lungs down. “Well, you _have_ drawn me multiple times — like _behind my back_ already, so I guess this shouldn’t be a huge deal.”

Steve smiled. “Yea, um, one small difference — you have to be completely nude for this one.”

Bucky frowned slightly. “As in… full frontal?”

He nodded, swallowing and biting his lip. 

“Mmm…”

“You can think about it… I don’t have to hand it in until next week,” Steve added quickly. 

“Thinking is a good idea,” Bucky said. “I’m not sure if I want my junk on full display for New York City to see.”

“Will telling you it’s a beautiful junk help speed up your thinking process?”

“Nice try, kiddo.” He grinned. “Actually… it might help if we can talk about _paying_ me to do it.”

“I can do that.”

He let out a short laugh. “I was just kidding. I’m not taking your money, Steve. I’m already living in your house for what it’s worth.”

“You think, as a favour for giving you shelter, you can do this for me, Buck?” He looked at him, pouting his lip, enlarging his innocent puppy dog eyes. 

“Look, Steve — your hospitality means a lot to me — but as egoistic as this sounds, come on — it’s _my body_ we’re talking here.”

Steve bit his lip, smirking at the comment. 

“What?” He cocked his head to one side, returning the innocent look. “I know I’m hot, Steve. Why else would you be asking for this body?”

“Cause I’m having sex with you, and it seems easier to ask someone who I’m sexually involved with to go full frontal for me?”

“Yea, but that’s only for _you_ , meaning for _your eyes_ only,” he said. “Plus I just got a new arm for you, gimme a break.”

Steve glanced at the place on Bucky’s shoulder where a metal arm used to be attached to. Now, thanks to advanced technology, they were able to replace it with a biological arm made by his own DNA. 

“It _is_ nice not to have metal touching my skin for once during sex.”

Bucky emptied his own bottle of beer into his mouth before throwing it into the trash. “I’ll think about it, Steve. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The next morning had them busy choosing a suit for Bucky. It took them a lot more time than they thought. Partly because there was such a huge variety to choose from, and partly because Bucky was most probably the pickiest person Steve had ever met. From Brooke’s Brothers to Ralph Lauren, it was either too tight, too loose, or too weird. He wasn’t fond of colour either, and since Steve decided to go in his dark blue suit, eventually he settled for a full black one from Leo (which he looked absolutely stunning in). At least, that was the suit he was going to wear to the event. Steve made him pick a few other ones just so they wouldn’t have to do another shopping spree for the next event. 

“I’m not going through another three hours of hell any time soon,” he grumbled.

They had a nice lunch before heading back home. As Bucky said he would make a couple of mimosas for the two of them, Steve went upstairs to put away the suits and sort some stuff out. 

When he returned to downstairs, the drinks were already on the counter in the kitchen. He saw a few clothing items scattered on the floor leading to the living room. What he saw next left him completely in awe. Draped gracefully across the couch was a very naked Bucky, gazing up at Steve, his eyes filled with eager and lust. 

“You asked for a model, sir?” he purred, cocking his head innocently. 

Steve’s mouth was already hanging open. “Y-yes,” he managed to stutter. God, Bucky was perfect, and Steve was a sucker for perfection. He turned heel and rushed upstairs. It was the best option for him, or else he would’ve pounced onto Bucky like a hungry predator. 

He returned with a couple of items. His easel, a large, thick sheet of paper and a tiny box of fine charcoal. Bucky watched as he set the place up for sketching. 

“So what changed your mine?” asked Steve, pulling a stool towards the easel and plopping himself down onto it. 

“I guess shopping kinda killed the mood for the both of us today,” said Bucky. “I thought we’d have a bit of fun — as my way of thanking you for going through hell to pick me a suit.” He smiled. “Also, you appreciating my body really turns me on,” he added casually, adjusting his position so that he looked even more ecstatically prepared. “I want you to draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.”

Steve laughed at the Titanic reference. “Alright, Rose,” he teased. “But you’ll have to stay still. I don’t wanna see you flinching, you hear me?”

Bucky did not lie. Before Steve could make a quick draft of the outlines, a raging boner could already be seen from Steve’s angle.

“Oh, fuck — sorry,” Bucky mumbled. “Didn’t think I’d be _this_ horny for you today.”

“It’s — It’s fine.” Why was he stammering so much? He’d seen Bucky naked in countless occasions, and he had definitely drawn him before. Perhaps, this time, with Bucky staring directly at him while he drew was a different matter. Yet it still did not stop him from having a massive boner in his pants. The urge was real, and it was concerning him more than he thought it would. “This is a great pose. Keep your eyes on me. You can close them once I’m done with your eyes, if it gets too boring for you.”

“I doubt it would with you.”

Nevertheless, he slowly fluttered his eyelids shut once Steve had told him that he was free to do so. He looked even more cute and amazing like that. Steve worked his way from the eyes to the nose, lips and chin. He had always had a five o’clock shadow, which highlighted his cheekbones significantly. 

It took him another fifteen minutes to get to his chest, and another ten to the v-line, then the muscular thighs. And finally… Bucky’s crotch, which was still undeniably hard. Steve contemplated for a bit. He _could_ draw it flaccid. But he couldn’t deny it would make the sketch a whole lot more impressive the way it was now. Steve decided to go for the latter option, licking his lips as he worked on the shape. So long, so thick, so utterly delicious…

Did he really just think it was _delicious_? God, he was horny. He focused on looking at it on the paper instead of the real thing. _Not now, Steve, not now._

After what felt like eternity for him, he finished off the finishing touches, got up to put away his charcoal and wiping his fingers with a wet Kleenex. He stared at the sketch. It really _was_ as impressive as he imagined it to be. Shifting his gaze to the model, he felt like he had lost control of his own movement. 

He took a few small strides forward, keeping his eyes on Bucky, who opened _his_ eyes, in time to meet his gaze as Steve took another step forward. They were only an inch apart now. Bucky sat up slightly as Steve placed his hand around Bucky’s neck, leaning in. Their lips met in the middle, devouring each other’s mouths, yet softly and sweetly. 

Steve rolled onto the couch on top of him, keeping his lips on his. Bucky took advantage of their closeness, rocking his hips so that his boner rubbed against his through the fabric of his pants. 

For an entire five minutes, the world seemed to have stopped. There was nothing but silence, with faint breathing noises made by the two. And within those five minutes, a wave of nostalgia hit Steve, remembering their first kiss — on the very same spot they were in now. He sighed against Bucky’s soft lips, embracing the memory. 

Eventually, they had to stop, as they were running out of breath. 

“Thank you for doing this,” Steve murmured, still gazing into his eyes. 

“Anytime.” He smiled, sliding his hand along his waist. “Can I get my share of your nakedness now, baby?”

“Only if you behave.” He kissed him again, before getting up and extending a hand to pull him up. “Let’s take this to a more comfortable surface than the couch, shall we? Makes it easier to touch each other.”

…

Sam bursted out laughing. “Really?” he wheezed. “ _That’s_ the story of Bucky’s raging boner? Oh, god, you guys are killing me.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, punching him on the arm. “That’s enough, Sam. Have a little respect for Steve and Bucky.” To the both of them, she added, “Not that I don’t think the nude sketch is impressive — but it _is_ kinda funny how you got him to… you know.” She did a gesture. 

“Yea, we get it,” said Steve. “Being too hot to handle has its perks.” He gave Bucky a smirk, who returned the expression. 

“That’s still my favourite, though,” Bucky told Steve. 

“You ain’t the only one, son,” Sam chimed in. “Just look at that crowd… it’s attracting attention from the whole of Manhattan.” He whistled. “Or more specifically, your dick is.”

Natasha threw him another punch on the arm. 

“What? It’s true,” he mused, sipping his glass of champagne. “You should be proud — the both of you. Bucky for owning it, and Steve for, well, _owning_ it too.” He wiggled his eyebrow cheekily. 

“Jesus,” Natasha muttered. “Remind me why I date you again?”

“Cause I’m smart, handsome and hilarious?”

“Good. I’d like you to actually _be_ that way, or deal’s off the table, mister.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, then closed it almost immediately, frowning at something behind Steve and Bucky. “Guys, look.”

They turned round, finding a girl presumably in early twenties, her brown curls complementing her large grey eyes. She looked up at Bucky, unsure and timid. 

“Can we help you?” Steve asked. 

She blinked, shifting her gaze to Steve, then back to Bucky. “Sorry, it’s just… you really _do_ look so much like him.”

“Who?” said Bucky, frowning slightly. 

She continued staring at him, wide-eyed. “You’re even more good-looking than that picture of you,” she murmured. 

“I’m sorry — who _are_ you?”

“Sorry!” She swallowed awkwardly. “Um — I’m your sister — I mean, half-sister — Rebecca… Rebecca Barnes…?”

The four of them stared at her. There was a brief silence. Natasha cleared her throat. “Um, Sam and I are gonna… go.” _See you,_ she mouthed to Steve, who nodded. 

Her eyebrows flickered slightly. “Are you…?”

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled. “Wow… I… so what brings you here?”

“You,” she answered honestly. “As soon as I heard about Steve Roger’s exhibit, I knew it was my only chance to meet you. So… here I am. God, you look so much like my brother — _our_ brother. Except a lot more handsome.”

Steve saw him blushed. “How is he?” Bucky asked.

“Right where he belongs,” she said. “They’re gonna let him go soon. My mom paid a lot of money to get him out. But don’t worry — he won’t be bothering you, I promise. Thank god I’m moving out— I can’t stand the both of them.”

“Where will you be staying, then?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I’m still finding a place.”

“If you don’t mind me asking — what is your job?” Steve asked her. 

“Oh, I’m doing photography,” she replied. “But right now, I’m working as an assistant.”

“For who?”

Just as she was about to respond, a high-pitched squeal came from behind her. “ _There_ you are, Becca! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Rebecca rolled her eyes at Steve and Bucky, then turned around. Standing behind her was a tall and skinny man in probably his forties or something. Steve cringed. He was also the gayest man he’s ever seen. 

The man strolled up to Bucky, pushing past Rebecca, seizing hold of Bucky’s chin, tilting it up, down and sideways, observing his face. “Nice… very nice… beautiful… just perfect,” he mumbled to himself as if no one was listening. 

Bucky squirmed, his eyes flickering to Rebecca, then Steve. Steve cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let go of my boyfriend now.”

“Oh, you two are dating!” he squealed, clapping his hands together with glee. “How cute!” He took Bucky’s hand, then Steve’s, shaking them each ferociously. “Allow me to introduce myself! My name is Gabriel Francis André. Yes, it _is_ a French name — because I’m half French. And I am a photographer.”

That name _did_ sound familiar to Steve.

“I’m currently working on a campaign for Calvin Klein, and they’re looking for new models! Becca here told me about this exhibit, and she thought it may be an ideal place to scout for models to pitch to the people in Calvin Klein!”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look. 

“I walked in here, and the first thing I saw was that magnificent sketch of this gorgeous gentleman. What is your name again, my dear?”

“Bucky Barnes,” he said, still slightly confused. 

“Well, Mr Bucky Barnes,” he boomed enthusiastically. “I would _love_ to photograph you some time. Calvin Klein is going to love you! Just — just _look at you!_ You have the whole package! Here is my business card. Please consider my offer and call me!” He shoved his business card at him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, gentlemen. Good job on your collection, Mr Rogers! Ta-ta!”

With that, he spun round and prodded away. 

“Ugh, ignore him,” Rebecca said as soon as he was gone. “I only told him about this place ‘cause I need a free pass in here to see you. For the record, that thing just now? Wasn’t part of the plan. You don’t have to call him if you don’t want to.” She paused. “But it was great to finally meet you, James… I mean, _Bucky_. I hope we can see each other again, maybe over lunch or something. Here’s my number.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Don’t be a stranger.”

She turned to leave, but as she did, Steve called after her. “Wait.”

“Mmm?” she said. 

“If you’re looking for a new place, I know there’s an empty flat below ours.” He took out a notepad, scribbling the address. “Pop in to check it out.”

She smiled, taking the slip. “Thanks.”

“See you, Rebecca,” said Bucky. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, Bucky turned to Steve. “What was _that_ about?”

“I’m doing you a favour, Buck,” said Steve.“She’s your only family left that’s actually sane. You wouldn’t wanna keep her out of your life.”

“No, I get that,” he said. “But a modelling gig? Is that man crazy?”

“If we’re talking about _him_ — yea, he’s crazy. But a modelling gig definitely isn’t.”

He stared at him in confusion. 

“Oh, comon’, Buck.” Steve broke into a wide smile. “ _I_ know you’re hot. _You_ know you’re hot. _Everyone in this room knows you’re hot._ Is it really _that_ big of a surprise?”

“You really think I should go for it?”

“Definitely,” he said. “You’ll be setting a good standard out there.” He smirked. “Besides — I feel like you need a hobby.”

“I _do_ have a hobby!” he said, a little too loudly. 

“Okay — sitting at home every day waiting for me to come back and taking care of me is _not_ a hobby,” Steve pointed out. 

“What makes you think you’re my only centre of attention?” he barked. 

Steve looked at him, saying nothing. 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he growled. “I’ll think about it.”

“Can’t wait to see you splashed across a billboard in Times Square, babe.”

“Shut it.” Yet he couldn’t help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is coming soon;) Thanks for being patient<3


	12. "Soulmates"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here you go... the final chapter. I'm really sorry for the belated update, but in my defence, I made it EXTRA long and special ;) Be sure to enjoy!!!

Bucky has never been a morning person. Perhaps early mornings remind him too much of back when he was in the military, and as much as he feels privileged to have served his country, it was a complete nightmare. Or ‘when nightmare meets hell’, as he described to Steve. In fact, to say the word ‘morning’ feels like a drawl.

But today is not one of those mornings. Today is different. Today, under the clear blue sky, among tall trees and fresh grass, standing there in front of nearly a hundred witnesses, _feels_ different. He stares straight ahead. Opposite him stands the man he loves — the man he is so hopelessly, _achingly_ in love with.

At Bucky’s age three years ago, Steve is still undoubtedly a very good-looking man. That is — hitting his thirties didn’t seem to concern his physical appearance one bit. If Bucky was as good-looking as Steve said he was at that age, _no wonder_ Steve fell in love with him. Just look at him in his white suit — so utterly _handsome, gorgeous, beautiful, ecstatic_ … every positive word in the dictionary. How did he become so lucky? 

Steve had wanted an outdoor wedding, in which he did not object. It is so beautiful out here, he feels like he wants to burst into tears any second. There isn’t a single doubt that they have chosen the right place.

“Ahem.”

Steve looks up at Sam, who, miraculously, decided to be their officiant at the last minute because Steve had simply _insisted_ on getting married by someone they _knew_. (After all, he officiated Sam and Nat’s.)

“Bucky?”

He snaps out of his trance. “Yes?”

Sam clears his throat again. _Blah blah blah…_ on and on he goes with the important details. Bucky hears not a single word of it. He’s supposed to be nervous, with an entire crowd of people staring at him and Steve, wide-eyed. 

Except he isn’t. Not even a little. The truth of the matter is — he has never been happier in his entire life. All he can focus on right now is the perfect angel standing before him, gazing deep into his eyes the way he is into his. If he had the ability to make time stop, he would hold on to this moment for as long as he desired. 

He continues staring at Steve, who shifts his gaze towards Sam. _Oh._ Sam is talking to him, to the _both of them_. Everything is going so well and at ease until he hears the word ‘vow’, in which he panics for a millisecond. Thankfully, Steve is going first. 

Steve clears his throat, gazing into Bucky’s eyes again. Bucky blinks. There is evidently no slip in Steve’s hand, whatsoever. Has Steve not written his vow on paper? _Shit._ He has _memorised_ his vow. Bucky grips the slip of paper in his hand, mentally cursing Steve for making him look bad. He becomes so lost in his thoughts that he almost forgets that Steve is standing right in front of him. _Fuck, Bucky. The love of your life is reciting his vows to you. Concentrate._

Steve begins with a light smile.

“Bucky Barnes.” He fidgets. _So he’s nervous._ He takes a deep breath, trying again, still smiling. “First off, thank you for saying yes.” The crowd breaks into laughter. Steve lets out another sigh, this time a sigh of relief. Then the words that comes out of his mouth is enough to make Bucky melt. 

“I know artists aren’t meant to be cliché, but with you — I can’t help but be that way. So if I trouble you too much with what I’m about to say, apology’s on me, but I will gladly repeat them every day.”

Bucky’s baby blues widened. _Is… is Steve… reciting a poem he wrote?_

“You’re the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the moon to my sun. You’re my best friend, my lover, my life, my only one. 

When I look back at the last four years we’ve spent together, there isn’t a single regret. Which is funny, ‘cause I was so used to making them — one of them even being made on the day we first met.

But now I know it was the best choice I’ve ever made — why the hell would a Manhattan boy in Brooklyn survive? Because he had his best friend, he had you there with him all those years, keeping him alive.

Once upon a time, it was just the two of us against the world, you said. Well, allow me to tell you that it still is, and it always will be — at least until we’re dead.

There is another promise I’d like to make — one that doesn’t involve dying. I promise to protect you for as long as I lived, and let you do the same — please believe me, I’m not lying.

I wish I could go on and on about how amazing you are, Buck, but if I did, we would all be here for eternity. So let me ask you one last thing, before I end this: James Buchanan Barnes, my dearest Brooklyn boy, will you take my hand and say that you deserve me?”

For an ex-soldier and a war hero, he is a weakling — he knows. It doesn’t take Steve to make it halfway through before his tears begin to flood his cheeks. As Steve stands there, amongst the sea of applause and cheers, grinning from ear to ear, waiting for a response, he wipes them away slowly with a napkin Nat hands him. 

“Gosh, Stevie,” he sighs finally. “Not on my wedding day!”

The crowd erupts into laughter, Sam and Nat the loudest. As soon as they died down, Bucky begins, “I honestly didn’t think I deserved you, Steve.” Another peel of laughter. “But now I do.” He watches as Steve’s smiled broaden significantly. “And I’ll tell you why in a minute.”

He lifts up the piece of paper in his hand, folding it up and tucking it away in his blazer. When he looks up, he sees a flicker in Steve’s eye, watching him intently, the same look he gave him two years ago — right where they were standing. He will always remember that day.

Glancing towards the crowd, then shifting his attention back to Steve, he gulps. Crossing his fingers, he hopes that what he is about to say will come as nicely thought out in his head.

“The Oxford Dictionary defines the word ‘soulmate’ as _a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner_ …”

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

 _“Come on, Buck — pleeeeaaaase…”_ Steve begged. 

“No.”

_“Why not?”_

“Because, in case you forgot — we’re under someone else’s roof!”

“But this isn’t even their own roof,” Steve pointed out. “Sam and Nat only rented this house for the wedding!”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that we’re literally an inch away from the guests next door!”

“I thought Becca was next door.”

“Exactly, Steve!” he barked. “You want my sister up all night listening to us having sex?! And do I have to remind you that we’re both screamers?”

He wheezed at the word ‘screamers’. “Sure, Buck,” he said. “But I’m warning you: you’ll regret sooner or later.”

Bucky sniffed adamantly. 

“Come _on_ ,” Steve whined. “What is there to lose?”

“Uh — I think of a few things, starting with our _dignity_.”

Steve laid on the bed, his hair still damp from the shower they just had together. He looked up at him, pouting his lip. “Don’t they say what goes on in the Hampton’s, stays in the Hampton’s?”

“ _Who_ said that?”

“ _Me_ — just now.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re _impossible_.”

Steve rolled onto his front, still staring at Bucky. “We haven’t fucked in like _two days_. I’m literally dying here.”

Bucky glared at him. 

“Did I say ‘fucked’? I meant made love,” he corrected himself. 

“Well, maybe you should’ve _made love_ to yourself in the last two days, since I couldn’t be there to help.”

He scowled. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come home at midnight two nights in a row.”

“I told you — they needed me there!” Bucky retorted. “Weren’t _you_ the one who pushed me into this career the first place? Lemme just remind you: looks don’t last long. I have to give it all I got as long as I can.”

Steve sighed. He had a point.

“I’m going downstairs to get some towels,” Bucky announced, walking towards the door. “I expect you to be tucked in bed as soon I get back, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Sir.”

“You better.” He wasn’t sure if Steve had heard him as he closed the door shut behind him. 

Steve was in agony, he knew. And he didn’t blame him. They had been having a lot less sex in the past year than they normally would. It was either Steve’s demanding job as the new founder of the art studio he set up a year ago or Bucky’s as a model. 

He sighed. Two years had gone by since his first ever photoshoot (a really awkward one, too), and it was still kind of weird seeing his face and body splashed across multiple billboards and magazines all over New York City. Whatever he had done in the photos, or whatever that mental photographer had done _to_ his photos — it had worked. Calvin Klein loved him. And within weeks, he was on nearly every ad in the city. (Steve had said he liked seeing him half naked wherever he went.) In a matter of months, he had received offers from different high-end brands, asking him to model their menswear. It was _ludicrously fast_ , one would comment on the speed of progress. He had, one might also say, gone viral — even appearing in multiple editions of various magazines. 

In fact, the attention he received got so out of hand, there was a time when he didn’t step foot out into the street for a whole week. Once when he was in Paris for fashion week, he was practically _mobbed_ by a crowd of fans. Even Steve got a bit jealous — not of him, but of the _fangirls_. 

“They’re hogging all your attention,” he had whined. “They’re literally lining up for it.”

“Well, they’ll all have to line up after you,” he assured him. “And the only two women I _do_ care about is Becca and Nat.”

Becca did check out the apartment below theirs, and moved in within two months. Being the decent and easy-going person she was, quite swiftly, she became close to the the two of them, and befriended Sam and Nat, thanks to all the times the couple were at their place when she would pop in to have a chat. She eventually got out of being an assistant and became a photographer herself, occasionally helping out in some of Bucky’s photoshoots. (The photos she took of him were usually the best.)

And then, it happened. Just six weeks ago, Sam and Nat had announced that they were getting married, which wasn’t too much of a surprise, considering they have been engaged for like a year. Steve, Bucky and Becca had helped the two organise the event, including handling the caterers, photographers (Becca had managed to find the best) and guest list. They even helped pick out the wedding dress (only with Nat, not Sam, of course). 

A house was rented in the Hampton’s in a nice secluded area as the venue. They had driven in earlier that day to prepare for the rehearsal dinner on the next day when most of the guests arrive. It had been a busy day for all of them, and all Bucky wanted to do by the end of it was crawl into bed in Steve’s arms and hit a five-star snooze. 

He had intended to sleep away the stress, but knowing Steve — stress meant sex. But it was supposed to be Sam and Nat’s day — he didn’t want to make it about Steve and himself, more so did he not want Becca to be traumatised by the sounds of their love-making. 

It didn’t take him long to retrieve some fresh new towels from the laundry room. He headed upstairs again after that. The sooner he could get back to his room, the sooner he could sleep. He was already zoning out midway. 

Bucky couldn’t hear a single peep when he walked in and closed the door behind him. And since it was something like an ensuite, the door led into a smaller room where the couch and table were. It was only when he took a few more steps forward towards the direction of the bedroom when he realised he was hearing things. Quiet pants and heavy breathing… so it didn’t take long for Steve to fall asleep and begin snoring. 

“What the—” He froze at the scene in front of him.

Steve was, as he expected, under the covers. The only difference to Bucky’s imagination was that instead of him lying flat and sleeping soundly on the bed, Steve was sat up, his hands underneath the covers, working them along a hard lump shaped under the surface of the fabric. 

Steve initially had his eyes closed, his head tossed back onto the headboard. As soon as he saw Bucky in front of the bed, he froze instantaneously at his presence, staring wide-eyed at him, his hands staying where they were placed. 

After a brief moment of silence, Steve rolled his eyes, growling, “What? Can’t a man masturbate in peace?” His hands moved under the fabric, this time in long, slow strokes.

Bucky broke into a small grin, feeling a lump rising in his pants. “Son of a _fucking_ bitch,” he growled in return. “You can’t expect me to not intrude when you’re looking like that, Steve.” He reached down, tearing his shirt off through his head, discarding it onto the ground. 

Steve gave him the same grin, his eyes sparking with lust. “Admit it, Buck,” he cooed, “you like watching me jerk myself off, don’t you, pretty boy?”

 _“Love,”_ he corrected him, stripping down his pants and boxer briefs, revealing his massive erection. In a matter of seconds, he stood naked before Steve, a glowing figure of perfection. 

Steve’s mouth fell open slightly. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he purred. “Come get me if you want me.”

It took him no time to pounce onto the bed, tearing away the covers, sending them flying onto the floor. Now it was just Steve, with his hands on his huge dick, slick and glistening of sweat. Bucky removed his hands from his cock, placing them on top of his head on the headboard. “Only _I_ can pleasure you tonight,” he growled. 

“Oh yes, Sir — do what you want with me,” Steve moaned. 

“Not until you promise me you won’t scream.”

“I won’t! I won’t!” he cried. 

Bucky pushed himself down, leaning in and licked the tip of Steve’s throbbing penis. Steve let out a soft sigh. Bucky put his tongue at the base, dragging it upwards, as slow as possible. He knew it was pure torture to Steve. Served him right for turning him on like that. Kitten licks on his foreskin — Steve loved it when he played with it with his fingers or tongue. He brought his tongue downwards to taste his balls, swirling one in his mouth — slowly, and making a low humming sound. As he looked up, Steve had both hands grasping onto two of the bars of the headboard on both sides, arching himself up, shaking slightly, a whimper escaping his lips. 

The older boy smirked. It was a golden sight, seeing Steve offering himself to him. Without taking his eyes off his as Steve looked down at him again, he swallowed him whole without mercy. Steve thrusted into his mouth with urgent need, biting his lower lip to restrain himself from making too much noise. 

_You think I’m gonna make it that easy for you?_ Bucky thought. He pushed further, gagging the tip of his cock at the back of his throat, enough to send endless waves of stimulation for Steve, but not enough to make him come just yet. He was on the brink of it, Bucky was certain. But that easily? No _fucking_ way. 

He pulled himself off of him, leaving his cock even slicker and shinier than before. His pre-cum trickled down his shaft and balls, dripping onto the sheets. Steve moaned in pain. Bucky licked his lips. 

“Please,” Steve implored. “Please let me come.”

Bucky placed a hand on Steve’s pelvis, sliding it up across his body, reaching his chest in a halt, feeling the sweat dragging along his hand. Another sensual sigh. 

“Beg me harder,” Bucky ordered. 

“Please…”

“Please what?”

Steve looked up at him with half-hooded eyes. “Please, baby — make love to me.”

“Good boy.”

Bucky plopped himself onto Steve, straddling him and sliding his own erection onto his. He bent down further, kissing him messily. They sighed against each other’s lips. After a few seconds, Bucky released him. “God, I wanna eat you alive,” he moaned. 

He swore he could see Steve’s pupils dilate. “Can I touch you now?” Steve asked in a small voice. 

“Yes, baby — feel them all over me.”

Removing his hands from the headboard, he brought them round Bucky’s neck. As Bucky began rolling his hips, Steve’s hand slid down his back, round his waist and hips, finally reaching his ass, groping them hard. Bucky grind their cocks together harder, slamming onto his pelvis. He pressed his forehead onto Steve’s, gazing deeply into his eyes. “That’s it, baby, pleasure me,” he grunted. 

Steve kissed him hungrily. “Re — remember… the first time… we had… sex?” he panted. 

Bucky swallowed. “Course I remember,” he said. “You were practically squirming under me.” He kissed him back. “So cute — so gorgeous. Like a goddamn angel.”

They were rocking their hips together at a nice pace now. 

“What about that night when I first came inside you?”

“Oh, baby… you were a pro.” He leaned in to bite Steve’s lip, licked it and cocked his head sideways to lick his jawline. “I’ve never felt so full in my life.”

“And what about that night when you got mad at me for punishing you?” he asked softly. “Is this payback?”

He swallowed again, eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

Perhaps it was. Perhaps it wasn’t. Bucky hadn’t thought about that night in ages, yet the memory was drilled onto the back of his mind. It was during that period when Bucky had been coming home late constantly due to the late night parties he had to attend. He had offered Steve to be his plus one in many occasions, but Steve refused them all. 

Steve had become so fed up that he simply made an ultimatum for Bucky. Either he try to come home before one or Steve would punish him. Whatever ‘punish’ meant. 

That night, Bucky returned to the penthouse at one thirty, deciding to make it up to Steve by giving him a good fuck before going to bed. As stepped out of the elevator, Steve was already seated on one of the couches in the living room. Bucky walked towards him, removing his blazer, shirt and tie, discarding them onto the floor. The lights were dim, but as soon as he got closer to Steve, he realised he was completely naked. His legs spread open, an evident boner between them. 

Steve glared up at him. “It’s past one.”

“Sorry?” Bucky murmured, unsure of what to expect. 

“Drop your pants — _now_.”

Okay, so Steve seemed kind of pissed. Bucky struggled out of his pants and brief, stepping out of them as quick as he could. 

“Sit on the couch opposite me. Spread your legs. ”

 _Looks like Steve’s making the orders tonight._ Bucky did as he was told. 

Steve got up from where he was sitting, taking steps forward until he was only inches away from Bucky. He sat down on the floor in front of him. “Prepare yourself for me.”

He frowned, eyebrow knitting closer towards one another in confusion. _“What?”_

“You’re not hard enough for me to fuck you yet,” Steve growled. 

He blinked. “You… you want me to…”

He nodded. “I want you to jerk yourself off like you normally would — in front of me.”

Slowly and hesitantly, Bucky brought his hand to his shaft. _Like you normally would._ This shouldn’t be embarrassing at all, letting Steve see him fall apart in his own hands. There wasn’t a time when Bucky hadn’t jerked off while thinking about Steve. And this time, with Steve right before him, he was bound to be mind-blown. 

The process was a tad uncomfortable at first, but eventually, he fell into it completely. He stroked, flicked and pumped himself, his back sinking into the cushions. “Steve…” he moaned his name, eyes slammed shut. 

Bucky needed Steve to know how much he thought about him during the sexy times by himself. “Oh, God… you feel so good…”

“That’s it, baby,” Steve purred. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He stroked himself faster, bringing his other hand to squeeze his balls. “Oh — Steve,” he panted. “Fuck me slow… harder.” His head fell back. “I’m close, baby, I’m close…”

Steve nipped his thigh with his lips, before standing up and taking Bucky’s hands off himself. His eyes shot open, staring achingly at him. He was so close — _so close_ to orgasming for him, and all of a sudden he wanted him to stop? It hurt, having to come down in an instant from the high. 

“Hands in my hair,” Steve growled. Bucky obeyed, slipping his fingers through his blonde strands. Steve brought his own hands to his thighs, pulling him closer and upwards, exposing his butt hole. Leaning in, he licked him, swirling his tongue round the entrance, then inserting it in, fucking him with his tongue. Bucky let out a throaty cry, tugging his hair tightly. 

As soon as he was wet enough, Steve got up, pushing him further onto the couch. Grabbing his own cock and stroking it, Steve looked up at him, a smirk plastered on his lips. “You want me to fuck you now, baby?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure I hear you clear enough.”

“Yes, for god’s sake — fuck me, Steve!” he cried. 

Steve’s cock circled around his entrance, before pushing in, then pushing out slightly to ram himself in again. Bucky grabbed onto his shoulders, biting his own lip, whimpering in slight pain. Steve thrusted in and out of him. 

“I _told_ you not to come home after one.” He glared at Bucky as he fucked him. “Now I have no choice but to make you come untouched.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. So _this_ was the so-called punishment. It wasn’t that he couldn’t come untouched, it was the fact that he rarely did. In fact, the only time he remembered doing it was the first time Steve was inside him, and that, at least gave him some sort of friction from rubbing against Steve’s stomach. And Steve _knew_ how much he hated it. _Steve knew._

As those thoughts echoed in the back of his mind, Steve picked him up, still inside him. Desperate, Bucky hugged him closer, rubbing himself against him. He _needed_ to feel his cock on something, _anything_. 

“Control yourself!”

Bucky stopped abruptly. _Fuck, is this guy serious?_

He didn’t know where Steve was taking him. After a few more paces, he stopped, grabbing onto him tighter and pulling out of him, letting him stand on the floor. Bucky felt a little dizzy, hovering and shaking a little before Steve steadied him, turning him round. 

Bucky stared. They were in front of a full-length mirror — the one just outside Steve’s study. Before he could say anything, Steve had slipped himself back into Bucky again, whispering into his ear, “Watch me fuck you until you come, you naughty boy.”

Bucky couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy Steve ramming in and out of his anal — he did. Yet he was more shocked by Steve’s plan than to fully immerse himself into it. 

“Arms round my neck,” Steve said. 

Bucky wrapped his arm around his neck, feeling the vibration of Steve’s low grunting on his skin and his own pulse thrumming. He liked how it felt, even when Steve slapped him on the ass now and then. Yet a small part of him still felt like this was lacking a little something. 

There was another time when Steve bent him over and had him on all fours. For some reason that felt better than this. Perhaps it was because Steve had the decency to wrap his hand round his cock to jerk him off while he fucked him. 

But this time, Bucky didn’t feel that driving force on his penis. Sure, he felt something — good things, but it just wasn’t the same. He felt, almost… _vulnerable_ , something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Baby, you’re so tight,” Steve hummed into his ear. 

Steve came within the next thirty seconds. Bucky didn’t. As Steve pulled out of him, Bucky said, his throat burning, “Well, that was quite a show.”

Of course, he wasn’t convinced that Bucky had enjoyed it. Mainly because he was looking towards the floor rather than into his eyes. “You wanna finish this off in the shower?” Steve asked him, cupping his chin. 

“No,” he answered simply. Then said, “I mean — it’s fine. I can shower alone. M’ tired.”

Steve stared at him. “You sure?”

He nodded, walking past him and headed upstairs. The shower was the best place to think, and the best place to jerk himself off clean. He didn’t even care anymore — he just wanted to come — properly. He orgasmed within twenty seconds, pressing his head against the wall and panting as his cum dripped onto the floor and was quickly drained away by the running water. 

It was the first time he jerked off without thinking about Steve. It was the only time. 

He cleaned himself up, dried off, brushed his teeth and went straight to bed. 

As soon as he was about to drift off, the door of his room bursted open. Bucky couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes when he heard the soft bang and felt a stream of light in the room. It was only when he felt a gush of warm air over his body when he finally did, blinking sleepily at the sight of Steve hovering over him. 

“Shit — Bucky,” he said. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Bucky leaned forward, planting a kiss on his lips. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s _not_ ,” said Steve. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. I should’ve let you inside _me_ instead. Sometimes… sometimes I forget what they did to you all those years. Sometimes I forget there’s a reason you want to be touched, to be loved.”

“You did good, kid,” Bucky murmured, looking away slightly. 

“I feel _terrible_ ,” he continued. “Look at me — look at me, Buck.” He cupped his face so that he was staring into his eyes. “Let me make it up to you… please.”

Bucky brought his hands round his neck, pulling him down so that their foreheads pressed onto one another. “Yes,” he whispered. 

Steve slipped into the covers, kissing his wet lips. They made love like they did the first time they were together, with their cocks rubbing firmly on each other’s. Bucky loved it, loved that Steve was on top of him, grinding him like that. And this time, when he orgasmed, he cried out Steve’s name. Then they fell asleep in each other’s arms, hugging close. 

He remembered. He remembered all this as he had Steve under him right now, riding his cock. Maybe this _was_ payback — payback for how Steve had come round to his room and made love to him — the right way he wanted. 

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” Steve looked him in the eye, confused. 

“For coming back for me when I walked away that night,” he answered. 

Steve pressed harder onto his forehead. “I love you, baby,” he said. “I’ll come back for you any day.”

“I know.” Bucky rolled his hips, kissing him. “You’re too good to me, Steve.”

“You deserve it.”

“I _don’t_.”

“Yes, you do — say it,” Steve urged. “Say you deserve me.”

He grinned. “I deserve you,” he agreed. They kissed. 

Bucky felt nothing but bliss when they came together, his mouth firmly wrapped around Steve’s to prevent them both from screaming. That night, they made out in bed until both were too tired to amount to any more of it, and fell asleep — in each other’s arms — again. 

…

“What’s up with you today, Bucky?” Natasha leaned over the kitchen counter where they were sorting out the flowers. 

Steve and Sam had gone to set up the tables for the rehearsal dinner, while Becca was dealing with the photographers. Most of the guests would be arriving in the next two or three hours. They just hoped everything would turn out as they planned.

Bucky took a bunch of flowers, dropping them into a vase. “What do you mean?”

“You were practically zoned out last night.”

“Was I?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“You kept on saying how annoyed you were with everything.”

“Well, I had a good night’s sleep.”

Nat had known him long enough to know what that meant. “A good night’s sleep, or a good night’s fuck?”

He jerked his head at her direction. She smirked suggestively. “So it’s the second option, I’m guessing?”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky groaned. “Steve had been _begging_ me to do him in the last two days. I tried to keep it as quiet as possible. Were we really that loud? Shit — did Becca hear us?”

Nat laughed. “Relax, hotshot,” she breathed nonchalantly. “I didn’t hear a peep. Becca… I’m not too sure. But even if she did, who cares? You were trying to make Steve happy. And I can tell that he is. He didn’t make a single complaint today. What you’re doing — keep it up.”

“Does that mean we can scream as loud as we want tonight?”

“I didn’t say there are no boundaries,” she pressed. “If it were just us — probably. But some of the guests are staying over tonight. We’d have a lot of explaining to do.”

“And the two of you can be _really_ loud screamers,” Becca cut in as she walked into the kitchen, tapping on her iPhone. 

Bucky whirled round to face her. “Just _how_ would you know that?”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, a small grin appearing on her mouth. “Are you _for real_? I live below you guys. You think I wouldn’t know what kind of love-makers you and Steve are right now? I’m surprised none of the other neighbours have filed a complaint or something. Good thing it was _me_ who moved into that apartment.”

Nat brought a hand onto her mouth, chuckling softly, looking from Becca to Bucky, who was eyeing her dangerously now. 

“I’m… sorry?” he said finally.

  “Sorry? It’s gonna take a lot more than just ‘sorry’. Thanks to the both of you, I can’t hook up in my apartment anymore without you butchering the mood from up there. My boyfriend refuses to step foot into my apartment if we are meant to be having sex. We can only do it at his place — and his bed is quite the opposite from comfortable. I think I’m gonna start bullying him into buying a new bed.”

They stared at her. “You have a _boyfriend_?” Bucky echoed. “Since _when_?”

“Since college,” she said. “Actually — we broke up for a few years. We only got back together recently.”

Bucky and Nat exchanged a look. “So what’s his name?” Nat asked. 

“God — I know I’m the youngest here, but I’m _not_ a baby,” she retorted. “But his name’s Dave. And don’t worry — we’re going slow. I’m not getting married before Bucky and Steve does.”

Bucky shot her a look. 

“What?” she frowned. “You _are_ planning on marrying Steve, right? Because judging by your sex drive, I can’t think of anyone more suited for each other — besides Sam and Nat, of course.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “I _will_ marry Steve at some point, I think. I just don’t know when.”

“Well, whatever you’re thinking, you better not disappoint him. That guy’s like _head over heels_ in love with you. You should see the way he looks at you when you’re not noticing — it’s so sweet it’s almost disgusting.” She pretended to gag. 

“Can’t argue with that, though,” Nat agreed. “And you’ve been together for, what — three years? That’s a pretty solid number to start thinking about marriage, Bucky.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re the bride right now,” he said. “And technically, we’ve been together for eight. Five of them platonic.” He paused. “And we were in love for eighteen.”

Becca threw her hands up in the air. “I rest my case,” she announced. Turning to Nat, she said, “See? Disgusting.”

“You know,” Nat said to him, “if you wanna have some _real_ alone time with Steve, I can think of a place…”

His eyes flicked towards her direction. “I’m listening.”

“You’ll get _really_ wet, though.”

“Isn’t that the point?” The words came out of his mouth quicker than he thought. 

“Easy, tiger.” She grinned. “Well, basically — it’s a small lake,” she continued. “Just behind this house buried behind the trees. I doubt anyone goes there.”

“Good idea,” Becca piped up. “I intend to have a good snooze tonight.” With that, she turned and headed upstairs. 

It _did_ sound like a good idea — a late night skinny-dipping session. When was the last time he had some actual fun with Steve? Besides the sex, of course. 

The rest of the day turned out to be great, with the rehearsal dinner ending at eleven. They helped pack up during the next hour, while Sam and Nat entertained the guests as they resided to their assigned rooms. 

When Steve and Bucky had said their good nights after twelve and returned to their room to change, Bucky was already burning with agony. They changed into some more comfortable clothing — t-shirt and summer shorts. Bucky stared at Steve the entire time as they changed. 

Steve caught him, naturally. “What?” he teased. “Quit eye-fucking me, you creep.”

Bucky wanted Steve under him right that instant. But instead, he walked over to him, taking him by the waist and kissed him hotly. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, pulling away from his mouth. “Wanna get outta here?”

Steve frowned. “But we’re _already_ here.”

“I meant like, literally.”

He looked more confused. “To where? It’s past twelve, Buck. Unless there’s a fireworks display…”

“Oh, _comon’_ , Stevie — live a little,” he said. “When was the last time we had fun together?”

“… last night?”

“Put on your flip-flops, we’re heading out.”

…

“Buck, where are we going?” 

“You’ll see.”

Bucky had his warm hand wrapped around Steve’s, leading him into the darkness. Earlier that day, he had inspected the place Nat recommended. Sure enough, it was simply perfect for a swim, or in this case — a skinny-dip. 

He led him into the trees, walking along the trail to the lake. It was dark, with only a few lamps occasionally appearing along the pathway. Steve stayed close to Bucky. 

Soon enough, they reached their destination. Steve’s mouth fell open in awe at the sight. 

“It’s _gorgeous_ ,” he gasped. “This place is amazing, Buck.”

Bucky was already on the deck, stripping his clothing off, dumping them into a pile. He plunged into the water, rising back onto the surface, shaking it head furiously, water droplets flying in all directions from his wet hair. 

Steve laughed, discarding his clothes in the same pile on the deck and followed after him. Bucky felt an instant wave as he splashed into the water, laughing uncontrollably, then swirling round to swim farther into the lake. Steve swam after him. “Hey, wait up,” he called. 

“You can’t catch me,” Bucky sang playfully. 

Eventually, he stopped, and Steve caught up with him, seizing him by the waist as Bucky spun (dramatically) into his arms. “Gotcha,” he announced, satisfied. “What’s my prize?”

Bucky smiled. “Me.”

Before he knew it, Steve was making out with him. They hovered around the water, kissing soundly. There was no one around to see or hear them. No restraint was needed. Gradually, they made it back over to the deck, just in front of it, still in each other’s mouths. As Steve rested Bucky against the edge of the deck in the water, he didn’t resist to grind against him, moaning as he did. He was getting Bucky so wet, so hot, so hard. 

“Oh, Steve,” he gasped, meeting his thrusts, kissing him in the filthiest way possible. 

They got out of water eventually. There was no way they could contaminate such a perfect lake. Steve practically lunged himself onto Bucky, kissing him all over. 

“The things you do to me,” Bucky moaned. 

“Yea? You like that, baby?”

He nodded furiously. Yet just as Steve began to ride him again, he said, “Wait.”

Steve stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just that… you really wanna do it _here_?”

“Is here not okay?”

“Well, I’m kinda cold after coming out of the water. And the deck’s kinda hard.”

“Do you have a better place in mind? ‘Cause my dick’s kinda hard too,” he joked. 

Bucky chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I do — come on.”

“Always full of surprises.” Steve got off of him swiftly. 

They picked up their clothing, slipping into their flip-flops. Bucky ran Steve all the way to their car — of course. It was the obvious choice. With a load of people in the house, there was no place else for them to crash. Thank goodness the parking lot was safely tucked behind some trees. 

Bucky had his car-keys in his shorts pocket, because _obviously_ he came prepared. He opened the car door to the front seat, throwing their clothing in. As he closed the door, Steve opened the one to the backseat. Giggling, they piled in one after the other, laying horizontally on the soft plush surface. Steve ended up rolling on top of Bucky, kissing him hungrily. 

“Let me warm your cold body up, baby,” he breathed. 

Steve was straddling him now, pinning him down as he rode him hard and quick. It wasn’t long before the place began heating up and a lingering scent of sex filled the air. Bucky thought he was going to lose his mind over it — the smell of their love-making. So hot. So alluring. So intimate. So perfect. 

Noise wasn’t a matter in the equation anymore. They could moan, cry, scream, fall apart as much as they wanted, being protected by the barricade of the car. The temperature was rising every minute. Bucky could scream at the top of his lungs. Yet a burning desire propagated along his nerves. He needed this — he was sure of it. 

Sitting up to meet Steve’s face, stealing a quick kiss, he murmured. “Steve… I wanna be inside you tonight.”

Steve stopped grinding him. “Yea?” he breathed in response. The look in his eyes indicated how much he wanted it as well. 

“I wanna make you feel good, Stevie. You waited two nights in a row. How ‘bout that, huh? A little sugar from your daddy?”

Steve chuckled. “ _Wow_ , spoil me much?”

“Say yes.”

“Yes, _daddy_.”

“Good boy.”

They switched positions. As Bucky straddled Steve, he said, “You gotta prepare me first, though.”

He grinned. “Don’t I always?”

It was a good thing they were both clean. Bucky fucking hated condoms. They had only used it once when they were together, when Steve thought he was infected, but fortunately, it turned out to be nothing. 

Bucky put his index and middle fingers into his mouth, licking them all over, before slowly inserting them into Steve’s asshole. He stretched him out, nice and slick, stopping when the end of his fingers reached the rim, where he twirled them around the walls, dampening the inside. 

Steve gasped, clicking his teeth, throwing his head back onto the seat. Feeling sure he was ready, Bucky slipped his fingers out of him. He looked down at Steve. His hair was in a hot mess. It was damp, with strands sticking out here and there. _So goddamn fucking cute._ Bucky wasn’t in his best state either. His fringe hung over the side of his face, wet and dripping. Sliding a hand up, he pushed his hair back, then refocusing on his lover. 

Steve’s hands were on his waist, sliding up and down along his sides. “Come inside me, baby,” he purred seductively. 

About time. Bucky pressed the tip on the entrance. “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he told him. Steve nodded, swallowing. Bucky pushed into him, watching his own cock slowly being engulfed by Steve’s butt hole, disappearing inside him bit by bit. He’d seen it plenty of times, and yet it never ceased to be any less of an arousal for him every time. 

“You’re so sexy, Steve,” he moaned once he was fully inside him. 

“Am I?” he cooed. He was more used to Bucky calling him gorgeous, cute and beautiful. Sure, they both knew he was sexy, but at times, Bucky was seen as the sexier one. The Greek god, one would say, oozing with seduction. 

“Yes — _so sexy_ ,” he panted. They moved together simultaneously. “Like a dream.”

“You’re _adorable_ ,” Steve echoed, stretching out the syllables of the word. 

Bucky brought a hand down to his ass, clenching it mischievously. “Yea?”

“Yea…” He slammed his eyes shut to immerse himself into the fullness, his entire body glistening with sweat. 

Bucky beamed at the sight of the blondie losing himself into the moment… into him. He wasn’t kidding when he said Steve was like a fucking dream. When they were together — when they were _connected_ , it set off this palpitating soul inside him, fiery with love, lust, longing, greed for more — more of Steve. He couldn’t get enough of him, and evidently Steve felt the exact same way, which set an even larger flame in his heart. Bucky wondered how he was able to shut away those feelings for Steve all those years, convincing himself it wasn’t meant to be when he knew — he _knew_ he had been in love with him the first day he met him. All because he thought Steve would never return the feelings, that it was unrequited love and he was just a delusional boy with a stupid crush on his best friend. 

He wondered how he was able to live without Steve — without _this_. 

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was suddenly so small, so timid. He glanced down at him as he returned a lazy gaze. 

“Yes, my sweet angel?”

“Say you deserve me,” he choked. “ _Please._ ”

He blinked. “I deserve you.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I _do_ mean it. I deserve you.”

That was when Steve removed his hands from Bucky’s back and wrapped them round his neck, pulling himself up to meet him. “But I want you to believe it,” he said in a half-whisper. 

“I _do_.”

“No — listen. _I love you, Buck._ And I know you love me as much as I love you. But I want you to believe that I am yours and _yours alone_. There’s only you and no one else. And no one in this world or universe is going to take me away from you. _That’s_ how much you mean to me. And I _don’t care_ if you tell me you know that already — I’m gonna remind you every day for as long as I can remember. Do you understand?”

Bucky nodded, staring into his blue eyes which are inconsiderably darker, due to the dim lighting. He didn’t say anything — didn’t need to. All he wanted was to hear Steve’s voice. His sweet, angelic tone that makes his soul dance to every word, every vibration. 

“It would _kill_ me to see you hurt,” he continued, thrusting his hips against Bucky’s harder. He pressed their foreheads together, so that they were inhaling the same air, drinking in each other’s soul, imprinting one another. 

And Bucky was _crazy_ for it — crazy for _him_. He needed Steve in his adrenaline, running through his veins. Or else his heart might stop beating altogether. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Buck,” Steve exhaled. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without _you_ ,” Bucky managed. “You’re so amazing, Steve. So kind, so gentle, so heart-wrenchingly gorgeous. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“By being _you_ , Bucky,” was the reply. “By being the most perfect man I’ve ever met.”

“God, I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, too, Buck.” He kissed him, urgently. “I love you _so much_. M’yours, and you’re mine… _all mine_. Say it, baby — lemme hear you say it to me.”

“You’re mine,” Bucky repeated. “And I’m yours… _all yours_.”

“And you deserve me.”

“I deserve you,” he said. “I deserve you… I deserve you… _I love you._ ” 

It might as well be a prayer. 

“Shit — I’m close,” Steve whimpered. 

Bucky seized his cock, stroking it fast. “Come all over me, baby,” he gasped. “I wanna taste you in my mouth.”

It didn’t take Steve more than half a minute to, splattering his goods all over their chests, without taking his _goddamn_ eyes off Bucky’s face, crying out his name vehemently, eyes tearing up with ecstasy. Bucky’s hand slicked with his cum. He stood it upright, pumping out the last of it, straight into his own mouth, tasting heaven. 

Steve moaned as Bucky licked his lips, swallowing what was able to get into his mouth and thrusted inside him harder, coming in less than ten seconds, producing a fervent _Auuuuughhhh, fuuuuuck… Steeeeeeve_ sound before circling his penis around his insides, riding the orgasm out. 

They fell back onto the seat together, Steve cradling Bucky in his chest. Bucky stayed inside him until they both decided to leave. Sharing a passionate kiss, he slipped out of him, his cum seeping out through Steve’s slit onto the cushioned surface. Bucky immediately got some Kleenex from the front seat to clean up. 

Gathering their clothing, they helped each other dress. It took them five minutes to return to the house and their room. They had planned on ending the night with a hot shower together. 

But of course, that inevitably led to more touching — and more touching led to more kissing — and more kissing led to… 

Before long, Steve had Bucky beneath him on the bed, all hot and excited. They rolled around, making out like sex-crazed maniacs until they were both hard and horny again. One orgasm clearly wasn’t enough for the both of them. Bucky took him all in after being rimmed, fingered and having his prostate thoroughly stimulated. Having Steve inside him was amazing, and the younger boy made sure to keep _his_ cock in on the action, stroking it the way he wanted to be stroked. 

Steve was the only man Bucky had ever been with, but he didn’t need a comparison to know Steve was good at taking care of him. With this man, he was able to go to places he never thought he could go. And it definitely wasn’t just the sex. No matter what they were doing, as long as they were doing it together, everything felt right. 

Every now and then, Steve would ask him in his husky, sexy voice, amidst Bucky’s throaty cries, “Who do you belong to?” 

In which he would reply, “You.”

“And who do _I_ belong to?”

 _“Me,”_ he confirmed. 

“And why is that?”

“Because I deserve you,” he choked. 

_“Yes you do,”_ he would always say. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

Steve was practically _hammering_ Bucky into the bed as if his life depended on it. And it _did_. He needed to feel every part of Bucky, _be_ a part of him, fucking _inhale_ his soul if Bucky would let him.

They had stopped caring about the noise altogether. Becca was right next door and they simply _didn’t_ care. There were at least thirty people in the house and they _couldn’t care less_. As long as the volume did not make it to Sam and Nat’s room, to hell with all of them. It was as if they had shut themselves in this trance, and the rest of the world could fuck off.

Every time Steve slammed himself into him, chills would shoot up Bucky’s spine. As Steve coated his body with wet kisses, he pulled him downwards, so that they were only about an inch apart, staring into each other’s eyes. Being this close was all that mattered. 

“Fuck… fuck… fuck… Bucky — you feel so good.” It was the fourth time Steve cried these words out loud. The bed beneath them creaked consistently, matching to their rhythm. 

“Oh… right there… that’s it, come for me, my little angel.” Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, his anal scorching with a mixture of wetness, valium and pain — but _good_ pain. 

“Almost… there…” Steve quickened his strokes on Bucky’s, making him shiver with delight. 

“Steve…” 

“Mmm-mmm…?”

“I want to try coming with just your cock.”

Steve stopped moving his hand. “You sure?”

“Yes — _auuuughhh…_ it’s good enough to end me,” he rasped. “Ohhhhh… baby…” he moaned again as Steve massaged his balls. 

“Alright then.” He let go of him, but leaned down further to give it some slight friction with his belly. “Come as much as you can.”

During the next few minutes, the room filled with nothing but echoes of _Fuck, Ohhhhhhh, Right there, Harder, Faster, More, Don’t stop, Yes, Nnnnggghhhh…_ sounds of low moans, half-cries and silent screams. 

Steve came first, slamming into Bucky one last time, his pelvis hard as rock. Normally, he would throw his head back — yet this time, he kept himself straight, looking into Bucky’s eyes as he released his goods, letting him watch him fall apart. “Fuck, Bucky…” a soft cry escaped his red lips.

Bucky was still on the brink. He clung onto Steve tighter as he slipped out of him, then falling forward again to press their cocks together. The friction took Bucky completely — he was beginning to tear up. 

“Steve — you feel so good…”

“We should be coming together,” he hissed back. 

He squeezed his waist harder, his upper row of teeth sinking into his lower lip. _“Make us.”_

Bucky looked so goddamn sexy at that moment it was enough to make Steve burst. He closed his eyes for a brief second, before opening them and whispering, “God — I love you.”

And that did it for the both of them. As Steve came the second time round, spilling every last drop of what was left of last time, Bucky broke into a frantic orgasm, accompanied by a silent cry of what seemed to be shock and delight rolled into one. Steve had clasped a hand over his mouth to stop it from becoming a scream. Everything was going everywhere — they didn’t know which belonged to whom. But it didn’t matter. It was theirs — and their alone. 

But Bucky — _oh_ — he was coming so much. It was as if his dick was erupting in full-on active mode, all over their body, some onto his own face. For an entire minute, they had to wait it out. Eventually, it ended with Bucky’s heavy sigh of satisfaction. 

Steve let go of his mouth, crushing his lips with his. They made out filthily. As he leaned back, licking his lips, he said, “I can taste your cum in your mouth.”

Giving him a small smile, Bucky asked, “How’s it taste?”

“Every bit like you — amazing.” They kissed again.

After cleaning up, they crawled back into the covers. It was the perfect way to end the night — falling asleep in each other’s arms, hugging out every single nightmare and sharing each other’s dreams. 

…

“You may now kiss the bride.” As soon as those words echoed through Steve’s lips, Bucky fidgeted in his seat. 

It was Sam and Nat’s big day — yes, but all he could pay attention to was the handsome officiant behind the bride and groom. As their lips collide, Bucky wondered it would be like to do the same thing with Steve. To vow in front of all these people, to cherish each other for as long as they lived. 

His gaze shifted, and their eyes met. Steve’s lips curled into a faint smile, like a promise. _One day it’s gonna be us._ At least that was what he was hoping for. 

That was when Bucky realised he never really contemplated much on their future. Sure, he knew they would have one together, yet there was never much thought on _what_ they would do or _who_ they would be. And why was it supposed to matter? As long as he was with Steve, the person who made him the happiest man alive, they could be doing _anything_. 

Yet now that he was thinking about it, he wondered what the picture would look like. _Will we have kids?_ Adopted? In vitro? He wanted to have children of his own, have kids looking like him and Steve, _acting_ like Steve, how about that. Mini Steves and Buckys. How _absolutely cute_ would that be.

His thoughts were interrupted by Steve tapping on his wine glass with a silver spoon. “I’d like to make a toast.” 

The reception was taken place at the same venue. The day was peaceful and there was a right amount of sunshine. Bucky couldn’t help but wish one day their wedding would be as perfect as this one. _Don’t get it in your head too much. Nothing’s happened yet._ They weren’t even engaged. 

Steve stood up and talked about Sam and Nat — how amazingly compatible they were, how he looked up to them as couple goals. Before he ended his speech, he simply said, “I hope I’ll get to have a happy ending as beautiful as theirs one day. And when I do, they’ll be there to tell me, ‘You did it!’”

The crowd broke into cheers and laughter as he sat back down in his seat. Bucky then realised it was _his_ turn to make a toast. He stood up and began rambling on and on about how incredible Sam and Nat were as human beings, along similar lines to Steve’s speech. Towards the end, he paused, trying to find the right way to finish it. “You only get to find the love of your life once,” he managed to say. “I’m glad they’ve found theirs.”

He knew he really meant something — _someone_ else when he said that. And Steve knew it too. 

“I see you’ve adopted my cheesy personality,” Steve chuckled as he sat down, amongst the applause. 

“Do you really wanna have that one day?” Bucky asked him. “With me?”

“Bucky, you shouldn’t feel the need to even _ask_ me that.” He wrapped his hand around his that was resting on the arm of his chair. “ _Of course_ I want to. I’m _dying_ to have it. We make each other _happy_. We bring out the best version of one another. You make my life _complete_. I honestly don’t know what I’d be doing — _who_ I’d become if you hadn’t walked into my life that day.”

 _That day._ Seemed like a _million_ fucking years ago. 

“Can I tell you something?” Bucky asked. 

“Anything, baby — _anything_.” He looked into his eyes attentively, all doe-eyed and _impossibly_ adorable he could have him there right in his seat, right this moment. 

“That day — when we first met — my mother and I had a huge fight.” He swallowed. “It was kind of the first real fight I’ve ever had with her. I don’t really remember what it was about… but I remembered storming out of our apartment. I just — I just needed some air — ya know? So I took a stroll along the streets. And then… I heard this noise. I walked towards it, into a back alley, and I saw you… small, and well, kind of weak. But then I looked at your face. The look in your eyes, Steve — you were so _brave_. So _determined_. You wouldn’t walk out of a fight in a million years. 

“I _had_ to punch the guy. He was an _asshole_ — laying his hands on you like that. And then you looked at me… the look you gave me after I pulled you up… you were looking at me like I was your _everything_. 

“I didn’t think much about it at first. But then we talked, and I got to know you better. And _god_ — your _spirit_ — you have the spirit of an _angel_. I could sense that you were alone… but you had so much faith — so much that I was starting to believe in it too. When you had to go, I couldn’t stop myself — I _had_ to see you again… so I gave you my address.”

He turned over Steve’s forearm, revealing the tattoo. Steve looked at the tattoo, smiled, then looked back at him. His eyes told him to continue talking. 

“I’ve never connected with anyone like that until that point. I’ve already forgotten about what my mom and I were even fighting about. All I could think about was you. I watched you disappear off into the distance, and that was when I knew… I _knew_ I was doomed. I was doomed from the moment I first _saw_ you. 

“I felt like I returned home a different person. My mom and I made up, and she told me that she loved me no matter what. She knew how much I didn’t believe in it, with my father and her and all. I could still remember her voice, how she said it, when she told me that I was the love of her life, until someone better came along and take her place — take care of me for her. Someone I could truly fall in love with the way she never had.

“And that was when I told her. I looked her in the eye and told her, ‘I’ve already found that person.’”

Steve stared at him, his eyes dewy and sparkling with awe, his lips parted beautifully. “You’ve never told me this story before.”

And it was true — he hadn’t, even when they were only best friends. 

“Well, that was how it started. That was how I fell in love with you.” He gave him a small smile. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, too.” Steve’s hand tightened around his. “You know… I’ve never told you _my_ story either.”

He looked at him hopefully. “Tell me,” he said. “What’s your story?”

Steve brought a hand around his cheek, caressing it. “Exactly what you just said.”

Bucky’s smile widened instinctively, his eyes hopeful. “Really?” 

He nodded. “Minus the telling my mom part, though. I never told anyone.”

“My mom knew from the very beginning. Before she died, she promised me you’ll come back for me.”

He let go of his cheek, resting it on his thigh. “She never let you down, did she?”

Shaking his head, he murmured, “No.”

“Do you ever wanna have kids?”

“Yes…” he murmured thoughtfully. “Two — maybe three. Looking like us. I know it’s hard, but… I’d really like that.”

“No — we’ll make it work — we _will_. A boy and a girl?”

“A boy and a girl.”

“Call him James if it’s a boy?”

“What about Steve?”

“Two Steves in the house… kinda confusing… at least you’re Bucky, you have your other name to spare.”

“Fair point. What about the girl?”

“Jane?”

“Sarah?”

“Sarah Jane?”

Bucky smiled. “Perfect.”

“What about our last names?”

“I’d _love_ to take your name.”

“I’d love to take yours. I want every part of you in me. We can combine them, you know?”

“ _Can_ we?”

“Yea. I mean, _professionally_ , it’s best to keep our original names. But _officially_ , you can be James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers. And I can be Steven Grant Barnes-Rogers.”

“Or Rogers-Barnes.”

“You’re older than me. Besides, the initials are alphabetically in order.”

“Such a perfectionist.” Bucky laughed. 

“What? It’s _legal_.”

“Okay — _Steven Grant Barnes-Rogers_.” Then he face grew serious. “Can you _promise_ me we’ll have our happy ending? _Please?_ ”

“I promise, Bucky, I _promise_. We _will_. We will have it — we will have it all. Our happy ending. It’s gonna take _nothing_ for me to say no to you. I _love_ you.”

That put a smile on Bucky’s face once again. They stared at each other. The noise of the crowd seemed to have drowned out through their thoughts. That was when Steve said softly, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

“What, in front of all these people?” He needn’t finish his sentence when Steve wrapped his lips around his. 

It was an innocent kiss. Yet a long one. So sweet, so intimate. Bucky smiled against his lips, the memory of their first kiss together came rushing back. The first time he got to taste those soft lips he’d had his eye on almost _two decades_ ago. The first time he felt them quiver. The first time they opened for _him_ to fall into. Steve crumbled against him, smiling too, lost in the moment. 

They almost couldn’t hear Becca beside them go, “Ugh, get a room, will you?”

Bucky couldn’t stop smiling — couldn’t stop kissing Steve. Maybe one day he’ll get to propose to him. Get down on one knee, make his little boy feel like the most special man in the world. 

…

“It’s time, girls!” Nat’s voice sang across the garden. 

And it was a _gigantic fucking garden_. She had some strong vocal cords. Steve, Bucky, Sam and Becca were standing at the podium where Sam and Nat were married. By now, all the chairs in front of it had been cleared, simply for one major event — the throwing of the flower bouquet. 

All the unmarried girls piled in near the centre — excited and eager faces, laughing and talking all at once. The guys and the rest of the women stood on both sides, spread out, mumbling at each other and chuckling at them. 

Bucky noticed Becca not hurrying into the crowd of girls. 

“Don’t you wanna know whether you’ll be next in line for a happy ending?” he asked his sister teasingly. 

She grinned. “M’fine here. I’m pretty damn certain it’s not gonna be me.”

Before he could say anything, Nat had already stood herself just above the few steps leading to the podium, almost right in front of Bucky. As soon as the crowd of girls stayed still, she turned around, facing him. Steve stood closely by his side. Becca on the other, a little farther away from him. Sam stood next to Steve. 

Becca shot him an assuring smile as he looked away from her and towards Nat, who had her hand firmly around the bouquet, ready. She flashed him a smile before calling out, “One… Two… 

“THREE!”

Bucky waited for her to throw the bouquet over her head. It would’ve looked exquisite from his view. 

That moment never came. 

What _did_ come was the moment when everything seemed to stop. Every single thing in the universe he knew. Stopped. Motionless. The entire scene he was in, the movement around him, his own movement, his own brain, his own heartbeat — cut off by the one picture that was now in front of him. The flower bouquet held up right before his face. He could smell the fresh aroma of it. 

It took a second for his brain to come back to life. He looked from the bouquet to Nat, who was smiling eagerly at him. 

“Nat… what are you…?”

“It’s yours,” she told him. “It belongs to you now.”

“But… _why?_ ” he asked, still deeply confused. He could tell all the girls behind her were even more so than him. They fiddled around like flamingos, spying them inquisitively. 

“Because you deserve your happy ending.”

“Um… thank you?” He took the bouquet from her, still mildly confused. Then, he heard the gasps, _oos_ , _aahhhs_ and the _oh my gods_ from the crowd of girls. He looked up, seeing some of them pointing. 

Following the direction of their fingers, his eyes fell upon his right side. And then…

There he was. The love of his life. 

Down on one knee.

Looking up at him like he was his everything. 

That was when Bucky saw nothing else. Just Steve. Not the crowd of cheering, screaming and crying girls in the background. Not the sea of men in awe. Not Sam. Not Nat. Not Becca. 

Not when Steve reached into his blazer, pulling out a small box, opening it, revealing the impressive diamond perched on the ring. 

He only saw Steve. Steve Rogers. Steven Grant Rogers that will soon become Steven Grant Barnes-Rogers.

Steve had _beat_ him to it. When he was the one thinking about marriage and having a future together, and all those lovely, beyond imaginable things, Steve was thinking the exact same thing. Only a _much_ longer while ago, clearly. 

Now that he thought about the conversations he had with Nat and Becca the previous day, it all made sense. Them two pressing him for answers on his future with Steve, making sure he was ready. 

Sam, Nat and Becca — they all _knew_. They knew he was going to propose. He had gotten them to be in on it, be a part of it. Got Nat to purposely hand the flower bouquet to him that was supposed to be in the hands of someone no other than an unmarried girl. _All to make him feel like the most special man in the entire world._

“Yes,” he gasped before Steve had actually said anything. 

Faintly, he heard everyone laugh, some even cheering louder. 

Steve broke into the most _gorgeous_ smile. “I still have to ask you the question…”

Steve’s smile was enough to make him melt. “Then ask me, my angel. Ask me!” he heard himself say.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” His voice was _music_ in his ears. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” He was holding back the tears that were beginning to form at the rim of his eyes. He couldn’t let them cloud his vision — not now. _“Yes!”_

The bouquet slipped out of his hands. Steve got up as he launched forward. The box snapped shut, curled in between Steve’s palms and fingers. Bucky seized him round the neck, crushing their lips together, slamming his eyes shut as the tears — tears of pure _joy_ streamed down his cheeks like waterfall. 

The garden erupted into the most deafening cheers. For a whole minute, they stood there, kissing and kissing and kissing. Bucky didn’t want it to stop, didn’t want to let go of Steve, even when they broke apart to stare at each other. 

“ _Told you_ we’ll have our happy ending,” Steve whispered, making him smile through his tears.

He is Steve’s and Steve is his. They belong to each other. They _deserve_ each other. 

It was a dream. And he never want the moment to end. 

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Bucky must’ve been talking for a _decade_ now. He isn't sure. He didn’t keep track and he couldn’t care less. People can zone out whenever they want to, but he wants Steve to hear it all — everything he has to say. Every single, little detail of their past that has led him to his conclusion. (Excluding their explicit sexcapades, of course; they _were_ in front of a crowd, including Steve’s mother.) 

“The Oxford Dictionary says that ‘soulmates’ are two people _ideally suited_ to each other,” he says, still looking at Steve, whose eyes has never left his since he has begun talking. 

“I’m not gonna lie, Steve. There were times when I had my doubts on whether we were _ideally suited_ for one another. We come from two very different worlds. When you left for Paris, it broke my heart. And when I stopped receiving your letters, I really thought that was gonna be the end for us. The timing was so _off_. I thought the universe was purposely pulling us away from each other, put me in this world specifically not to be loved, to not _deserve_ any love.

“But when we had our first kiss that day, and you told me that you love me, and you keep on repeating it over and over and over again from then on… and you told me I deserve you, forcing me to _say_ I deserve you… it reminded me… it reminded me of why we were meant to be together.

“I was never meant to be on the streets the day we first met. I was never meant to hear you and walk into the alley. You were never meant to be there, but you _were_ , because the universe put you there, and it put _me_ there. It put us together. 

“You were never meant to come back to New York when I was back from Russia. The lost letters were never meant to return, but they did, straight into _your hands_. Everything that has happened… it happened for a _reason_ , Steve. It happened because we are in love. And as cheesy as that sounds, it’s true. We were put in this world to love each other. 

“That is why… that is why, a year ago, when you got down on one knee _right here — right where we’re standing_ and asked me to marry you, I said yes. And you don’t have to thank me for that, because it’s _you_ who you should be thanking. It’s you who made me say it. It’s you who reminded me that life is worth living, that we belong to each other, that as long as we make each other happy, nothing can keep us apart. It’s you who reminded me that we deserve each other. 

“If I could go back to the day you asked me to marry you, I would. I would gladly say yes to you again. I would come here every single day and say yes to you all over again, just to remind myself all those things. Remind each other that we _are soulmates_ , after all. 

“So — _yes_ , Steve Rogers. Yes, I will take your hand and say I deserve you because I _do_. And my ultimate vow to you is this: If you promise to believe me, I promise that I will _never ever_ forget that.”

Steve let out a sigh, tears of joy rolling down his red cheeks. And for a moment, all he can see is him — again. The eruption of cheers and applause — _standing ovation_ all fades away into the abyss. It is simply himself and Steve, staring at each other, hot tears flowing, drowning in each other’s eyes. 

Sam is near speechless. He can hardly carry on with the officiation after Bucky’s _lengthy_ speech. 

Bucky himself is hardly thinking or even hearing what Sam is saying afterwards. He says his ‘I do’ so mindlessly it is almost pathetic, but Steve _loves_ it — loves _him_. The only sentence he does hear eventually is, “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss.”

And they did. For a very — fucking — long — time. 

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

_Steve and Bucky’s happy ending met with a new beginning. Steve travelled across Europe with Bucky (Paris especially) for their honeymoon. Their careers continued to take flight. They had three children together and moved into a townhouse in Manhattan. The first child, a son — James, second and third are daughters — Sarah Jane and Catherine. They all took over both their traits. Steve continues to remind Bucky how much he loves him every single day. Bucky never forgets it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnddd... that's a wrap for this story. I hope I gave a satisfactory ending to it. After all, Steve and Bucky do deserve the best ;) If you guys wanna comment on anything in particular related to the story, or make any suggestions to what my next Stucky fic should be about, feel free to do so in the comments!! 
> 
> Once again, thank you for waiting so patiently for my updates <3


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